


Morning Star and a Nightmare's Embrace

by cagnition



Series: Crimson Era [1]
Category: Hollow Knight (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Depression, F/M, Fluff, Found Family, Healing, Love, Recovery, Sworn Oath/Protector, Trauma, grimmnet, slow building family, slowburn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:33:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 92,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22987162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cagnition/pseuds/cagnition
Summary: Often times, when one thinks of eternity one, cannot fathom how cruel it in fact is. To be a daughter of void and soul is to know a life of immortality and undying, know the world and watch it turn, but know it in its every form-- from its zenith to its collapse.And sometimes you need a helping hand to see the light in a world so dark, a scarlet flame to light the way
Relationships: Grimm/Hornet (Hollow Knight)
Series: Crimson Era [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1752862
Comments: 50
Kudos: 127





	1. The Hand That Feeds

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hydrangeamaiden](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hydrangeamaiden/gifts).



> Hey there, Cagnition here, the first attempt to a slowburn Grimmnet fic on a new account--
> 
> Quickly wanted to say this ha some mentions of self-depreciation, depression, self-destructive tendencies, trauma, death, spoilers, etc.
> 
> I do not own anything of the game Hollow Knight the characters and storyline all belong to Game Cherry, I, however, will be taking their lovely paper they have given me, and using it to make a paper goose with my garbage writing, thank you and goodbye--!
> 
> [ This was also a part of a commission, and I cannot post more until the client gives clearance to do so, so updates may be sparse and I apologize ]

Quiet…

In the rolling grounds of Hallownest, the precious and rare silence was something that meant one of two things; some looming husk had caught wind of some poor explorer of the sprawling depths of the dying kingdom and its expansive and lush chasms to be mapped.

Well… only for those that could so be skilled enough to roam these cavernous ruins and not find themselves on the pike of a long dead and reanimated husk of a lost and familiar friend.

She tried not to think of it.

But it was very seldom rare that she found herself successful in such a daunting task.

Many days came by she would pass by a husk that carried a shell with a familiar pattern, a wing she had seen as a child-- an old hunting companion, a stranger she had spied in passing in the City of Tears… some days it was agony… but those days had long since blurred into one long day paused by the fitful sleep of dark and stuttering sleep.

Dreams never came to her, to which she thanked her lineage, that of the White Wyrm and his grand power, that of which coursed through her shell, and flooded what little sleep she could find of foreign image of glittering skies dotted with strange gleaming lights and their dancing plumes of color.

It was always what she found to be the most serene, the rarest moments when she found solace in her days, holed away in caverns no one can reach and slumped to the far walls as though she were some wretch to be found by a kind stranger and taken into their home as in some grand fairytale from her childhood.

A sigh left her, eyes pressing shut as she drew in a long breath, hand running a cloth down the surface of the needle kept at her side and cared for greater than even her own carapace--

Why was it that she felt such guilt for the collapse of a kingdom she had no hand in, she was just a hatchling at the child, she had no hand in the decisions made, _it had all been--_

A swift rustle catches her attention and swifter than she had settled to tending to the blade in her lap, the huntress spins round to rend the ~~corpse~~ mosskin

~~Don’t lie to yourself that is a corpse.~~

But the sound of a nail through the wind, slices through the shrubbery and shell knocking the hostile her way, it turns around, facing its attacker, she can feel the pain in her gut-- a name on her tongue, but no expression shows on her face. Before she even has the breath to bounce away from the mosskin’s slayer as its shell falls back with a burst of rancid amber spilling from it, the form of the hollow eyed vessel glances to her.

She moves, turning to hop away, she will not be facing you hear, little ghost-- but they turn from her instead.

Hmm?

Bounding onto a platform and through, this was… most peculiar… since their battle they had been on their keenest deals to find her and chase her through the entirety of Hallownest’s great undergrounds to see what as to be had of her story, her mysteries, and honestly she had not quite slept in the past few cycles because of it.

She was nigh considering returning to Deepnest for a rest but that meant then that she would be nearest to--

No, she could handle a bit more sleeplessness… the Howling Cliffs had a few plces she could reach and stow away in-- perhaps a room in Dirtmouth as the Elderbug had been so eager to welcome her into the fading town’s confines, gentile in nature and gentler in nature he was a bug of his word, and she had known him since his youth. To him, she was something of a god…

To her… he was just another face to be lost with the coming nights…

But it was curious, why would such a frustratingly perserverant little shadow follow her with no regard for their own safety, and yet on spotting her in a moment of peace once broken by a pathetic enemy turned away.

~~T~~ ~~hey had a name,~~ ~~you knew it, it was--~~

She blinks away the thought and turns her focus toward the little ghost vaulting over the far platform with a flash of white and then higher still and out of her field of vision. This was most peculiar, it shouldn’t bother her and yet.

No, this was silly-- she had no reason to follow the little shade for the simple reson of sating her own curiosity, this would not be happening, this was _not_ happening.

She gives a deep sigh and slaps a hand to her face, dragging it down her shell and dropping her head back to hang. She was curious, yes, this she had to admit… it would be rather embarrassing if they spotted her though, the little shadow that hounded her akin to a beast and its prey, as she did with her own, as did the Hunter.

No, not embarrassing-- she’d never live it down and she knew it.

Don’t get caught Hornet, just don’t get caught is all that it can come to.

Sighing, and giving a shake of her head, she lifted her needle, winding her silk about the opposite hand, and looked to the far edge she had last seen the shadow bound away to. Her arm drew back, ready to chase the shade toward their destination, but she paused.

Arm faltered and lowered, glancing back to the form of the bug and its shell left oozing on the far distant ground, form nigh buried by the foliage surrounding and the falling leaves of the looming canopy above-- this wasn’t fair. The little ghost left a swathe of death in their path, she was a huntress, but only when she needed to be, was it the same for them?

A deep breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding in rushed from its place within her carapace, and parting her cloak from the side she reached beneath to grasp a dried bloom, pressed between the pages of an old tome she had long since read to the spine’s destruction and reconstruction, and rinse and repeat a good five or so times-- (from there she lost it and had to rewrite it from memory, fairly certain Lemm has it).

A delicate flower dried from it’s original pure white had kept its color all, gleaming its silvery hue in the gleaming light of the grounds of Greenpath’s glow with a soft twirl or its soft sagey and rigid thorny stem. A soft breath left her as she bowed her head and tapped the fragile bloom to her brow before keeling to tuck it within the foliage of the Mosskin’s overgrown form, watching the form bloom with the flowers and a subtle hum of contentment leaving her.

“Find rest in the end, Brenas” Head bowed and she rose from her place, turning round with a fluttering whirl of her cloak-- she had the nerve to kill many beasts… but only if it was the only option.

It was… hard to see a beast in a familiar face.

With a deep breath in she straightened the pin to the shoulder of her cloak and again darted attention to the far ledge and bounded to it to catch after the little ghost, she would certainly have to use her skills as a hunter at this point to trace after th--

What.

Standing to the far platform, waiting within her view, as she had with them on their first encounter before they bound up and through.

They had seen her.

They had known she would follow to begin with… how but--

She got spotted?

When did _she_ get spotted!?

This was ludicrous!

Her shell flushed to a vibrant cherry shade and she stamped a foot on the ground, turning round with a huff, a building want to give a pluming burst of whipping silk, shriek an unholy sound, a blast of light-- but she wouldn’t.

No, that’s what a _child_ would do, Hornet. It did little to stop her from doing a second stamp with a hand pressed to her face to scrub at the shell in attempt to stamp away the rosy hue from its place staining her face.

She bound forward, silk catching the ledge and tugged with her great strength, and like a leaf on powerful wind, was carried forward and on high, a quick kick of her foot to the foliage rich stone and she bounded higher and through the grounds toward where the shadow had gone.

She’d show them to mock her for her wariness of them, landing amid the thick foliage the husks spotted her in an instant… at least what remained of them… a path.

So perhaps they did only take down what they needed to.

It would be something to think on in her rarest moments of rest, but for now, she leapt and kicked through, with a quickness and kicked off the fast approaching form of a Vengefly and she darted beneath it, to which it spun round, searching for her and drove it’s wicked stinger aimed for her core.

A swift backward swing of her needle to slash through its form severing its head from its body in one fell swoop, her stomach twisted with guilt and opposite hand went to the pin on her left shoulder on instinct, but expression did not shift.

Cold and collected is what one could call it.

~~How could you.~~

Ducking beneath the spray and through the hall, and higher still into the Howling cliffs, the path vanishes but she has a feeling she knows where the shade is headed. Slowing her pace, and glancing overhead to the platforms of the crumbled stairwell and its barely lingering remains overhead, a sigh holding its place in her chest and she stops to gaze out into the wind torn wastes of the Kingdom outside of these haunted bluffs.

This place had been her entire world… to watch it rise and all and with it countless lifespans of countless other bugs-- it sort of came to disconnect her from just how important social contact was for the mind.

Why?

So she could get attached and lose them too?

She couldn’t handle it again, she had known the love of a shy bug but it was brief before he was taken, known friendship and they passed within the decade, known happiness and it faded by the day, known family and it had all fallen to nothing but husks and dust within the century’s cycle.

What point was there in trying if it all just went away and tore you apart with it as it left.

Her eyes narrowed with a sigh, turning to leap to the platform and--

Shrieked.

Standing before her as she bounds back in a state of shock and tumbles back from the ledge to land on the firm stone below with a hard thwack that did little to her shell other than make a tremendous clatter through the fabric of her cloak and clothing beneath it.

~~Idiot, you couldn’t even see a little vessel behind you.~~

A Bully gave its snarl and charged as she groaned and strained to sit up, landing on the breadth of her needle, thanking what entities there were she didn’t get chopped in half or speared through with her own weapon but now fumbling for it she found herself out of breath and staggering like she was a child again, why had she been startled-- why had the vessel managed to sneak up on her.

The silk had dried to her cloak and peeled away in a frustratingly sticky sheet wound about her-- right!

This was why she never went to the cliffs!

This damnable place and its winds dried any spun silk within silks and left her to be stuck clingig to the mountain sides or bounding around some young bug or a little jumping weaver-- she felt a fool in this place, and it was where she was at her weakest!

The Bully dove for her and she pushed with her feet, skittering backward in a sheer moment of panic, Silk cloud-- no the winds, Soul Burst-- but it wasn’t needed, the Bully was driven into the ground by the thunderousstrike of black and shimmering violet fell from the sky and slammed into the former bug and killed it instantly.

It… saved her… but…

“Why...”

The ghost extended their hand to Hornet, and she blinked in a sort of disbelief, looking to it and the weaver like grippers in place of digits and a fuzzy palm… an amalgamation of many bugs it would seem this little shadow was amidst this armor of chitin and void. She paused a moment longer, before right hand lifted to take the other’s own far tinier… accepting their offer of assistance in helping her back onto her feet.

Their opposite hand took the opposite side of her palm nd with great determination, they leaned backward and tugged firm, and with her own assistance, she rose with great ease from her place on the cold and stony floor.

“I sought your end in the fields of Greenpath, it was my direct intent to make certain you perished in the path to me, why did you rescue me.” Her disbelieve was evident in the cool tone of her voice but barely visibly in her expression. Shaking her head, and perplexed to no end as to why the would be saved by the very entity she fought to destroy but a few days before.

They had yet to travel to the Resting Grounds, she had been tracking them nigh every day, it seemed they were far more focused on… saving small grubs from containers?

Perhaps it was why she had been unable to locate the children of the Grubfather, stowed away within containers she had been too busy following the little ghost to recognize were right over her head or in front of her face.

The vessel starred her down, and looked to their channeled nail and held it up, to which she blinked. “Because you want to… fight?” Their arm lowered, as though disappointed, she hd gotten it wrong, “Because… _we_ fought _?_ ” To which their shoulders slacken and the nail lowers.

They point to their nail and then to their helm, and it takes a moment, their shell… the weapon? Is it their armor? But, because of their armor… and their weapon… an armor, weapon, what had both, why would it correlate unless they… were a… _knight_. Heavens be, Hornet, you should have actually listened during your studies, maybe you wouldn’t be so dense.

“Because you’re a knight?”

And their entire posture straightens back out, shoulders back, chest puffed out in a prideful manner. It would seem she had gotten it correct, “You rescued me because you are a knight then… is that what you would prefer your designation be then, little Knight?” And they gave a soft nod of their head, to which she gave a chortle.

They stepped nearer at that, looking up at her, as though it had been the first time they had heard a genuinely charmed little chuckle from the huntress before. They had heard the one in which she knew the thrill of a good battle, a fiery little giggle, but nothing quite so gentle.

“Might I ask as well… why did you wait for my following… and cut a path so I may go my way after you without finding harm… why…?” And with that the knight reached out and offered their hand up to her again and gestured for her to follow, pointing upward and toward the gates of Dirtmouth and its once beautiful bridge through to the yonder crystal mines that workers would come from for many many years travel just to fill their carts and turn back round to head back to their home grounds.

“Dirtmouth...”

Her tone was that of almost unimpressed, to which their hands dropped, shoulders slack, had they the capacity for expression they would most certainly have been giving her a frustrated stare. “Alright, I shall follow you to the Dirtmouth grounds, but I see not your need for my attention on such a menial and humble blooded town.”

Their posture straightened but their hand swatted at her as though to say she should not be insulting the town as such.

Perhaps she was being rather hard on it, but she had also seen it at its zenith, and this was… sad.

It was another memory to watch crumble in her hands and tear a little bit more of her world away from her again.

And she wasn’t certain she could entirely handle such a death of a memory again.

She gave a sigh aggravated, “I will not speak so ill of the town the moment it finds it denizens to better fill its grounds”

~~Please don’t fade away, please don’t go.~~

They gave a stamp of their foot, to which she gave a huff and turned her head, firm. And peeled at the silk clinging to her cloak, the layer peeling away with ease but the fact it had dried so quickly was the frustrating part of considering using silk in this blustering expanse. “I have said as I felt, I will not lie to better your emotions on a dying town for a kingdom I have known far longer than you have, little Knight”

~~Liar, liar, liar-- don’t say what you don’t mean.~~

The little knight stood there a moment, form shaking in what she could only assume to be frustration before their form turned and sprinted opposite her direction and bounded out of her view… and then the guilt washed over her like a weighted sludge that tore at the core of her chest and drug down with all its might.

~~Look what you’ve done, they had feelings, you hurt them, like you hurt the Knight, like you hurt the Pale King, you pushed them away, they wanted to show you something and look what you went and said, Hornet. This is why he--~~

She pinched her eyes shut, and exhaled a long and slow breath, and treading forward, her eyes looked toward the path above, hoping they would have perhaps waited at the top as a shadow does, and the guilt’s weight tore ever harder when only the cool grey of the sky above was all to be seen.

A kick of her foot and she shook her head, clutching at the pin on her left shoulder with a sigh and looked up to the ledge far above.

In the next moments, she rebounded between the walls, and onto the thickest of the shelves yet, stepping across, in quick bounces to the ledge, and to her disappointment, no sign of the Knight… not through onto the next ledge, and flitting into the next grounds below the cliffs before the bridge’s mouth or… what remained.

It was easy, bounding through, no capability to use silk in such confined grounds, she wondered how the knight could do this in such tight grounds and not find themselves maimed in every moment caught between a wall of jagged spires and a flat wall.

The very concept wasn’t quite impossible but daunting.

It wasn’t that she hadn’t herself been hurt by such spires, the point had left many a scar on her carapace that still had never healed away their marks of proof despite her gifts of Soul and Void, it was marring and proof she had (in some sense of the word) failed.

She hated that…

She couldn’t fail… not anymore.

Not with death so close to being the option for everyone remaining within the kingdom, it wasn’t an option if she wanted them to return to the thriving civilization they had once been.

She had to succeed.

She had to save them.

_She had to save everyone._

And _failure_ in any sort was not an option _. Even now…_ her thoughts flitted to the little knight and her hand gashed on the stone she had grasped on the ledge. A hiss left her, swinging herself up and landing with a gentle click of her feet she looked to the spilling white and frowned.

Another Failure.

~~You deserve to fail for what you did.~~

The wound took little time to carefully pick its path knitting itelf back together, the shiny surface once more a perfect sheen of black and her attention again on the little knight she had hurt… a failure, one she had not intended. She had not realized they were so connected to the old grounds, let alone so attached as to get angry should she insult the place to hide her own attachment to the grounds.

She shook her head, no she had to apologize for this, as much as it pained her pride, this was a creation of her father’s, and by all design, a sibling of hers. Though she would stretch the definition sibling as far as she could before the thin threads may just snap.

Walking the bridge’s remaining pathway, her hand extended to trace the old scriptures of the towering white walls nearest the exit-- something she’d been able to read since her youth without her father teaching her as she had needed with her languages as her studies had required. It was yet another reminder of a world long since gone but something still so intact that it never hurt to see.

Eyes shifted from the gleaming white glow to the fractured bridge end and eyes drew wide.

“Oh, Knight”

They had been trying to show her something.

Gleaming in the far distance over the ground was some dark and gleaming cirque of a warm and gleaming crimson hue with towering steed standing proudly before it. Oh, she should have just listened, she had gone and made such a fool of herself for her own pride after they were so kind so as to save her from a wound, and here she in turn wounded them.

With a low breath she leapt from the bridge’s edge and thanked the spirits she had worn something form fitting beneath her cloak this day (a tattered ruffled shirt ruined by many battles and her well loved nigh pitch silken shorts to cover her hind end in said scuffles).

Grippers hit the ground and form compacted into a graceful poise as though she had taken the fall a million times before and landed it without fault. She had… but it was not of her focus this moment-- eyes remained transfixed on the towering tent, stepping nearer toward it and nigh gawking towad the howling face stitched into its front.

For what manner could such a macabre cirque find the means to need such a dark design to attract their audience, this town was anything but eager to explore such a dark concept, they would more than certainly tuck tail and hide than approach such a daunting terror with the infection below, for risk of death.

Within one of the tent’s eyes far above its maw, she swore, perhaps it could have been a trick of the light to the average bug, but he was anything but the average bug, she had seen a figure standing there. Twin horns… or at least their shadow, looming and speaking to a shorter bug, of whom bowed and turned tail and ran off to carry out some deed.

So… that must be the Cirque’s Master then… no bug would be so eager to serve lest he were the man’s servant… or feared him.

Perhaps both.

And it was a rush, a shift in position and the shadow was back briefly, stepping nearer a though to peer through the gaping window and its tattered fringe, nearer… what ever could he look like and he paused, as though something had caught his attention.

And in a quick whirling spin of his form, and a plume of fiery crimson light that seemed… familiar… why did it seem familiar. Of all things-- the color struck its cord the strongest with her, where did she know it, what place had she seen it, what bug had she known with such a fire to them.

Her steps were feather light, inching nearer and needle drawn, watching as but a split second as the maw of the tent illuminated that same brilliant scarlet hue. So this fellow had the gift of teleportation a most Higher Beings did… it stirred a curiosity deep in her shell… nearer still, she inched round toward the smaller tent nearest her, attempting to sneak past its entrance and peer through and into that tent.

It had been a Higher Being, and there had only been so many that had a love of red, let alone a power over light or perhaps flame. But, who could it be--

Edging nearer her brow furrowed, hissing under her breath, it was on the tip of her tongue.

Scarlet… Scarlet why did she remember just that color’s name.

Why was it that these flames rang something within her, perhaps a glimpse of their creator and she could connect the dots.

The fringe of the smaller tent had been passed, and larger tent only a few steps away…

So close, come on just a few more--

“Ah, so _rude!”_

She really had to start working on this stealth thing.

Spinning round to find the source of the voice, her eyes scowered the nearest tent for a face and found form but… eyes just went… up and… up… and up before at last making contact with eyes.

A-Ah, a female termite.

“Certainly you do not mean harm to our dear troup with that dangerous needle of yours, no? The Master would certainly be very displeased” She gave a trilling churr, clacking her claws in elation, “Ooh! Perhaps he will give me the gift of consuming what is left after he deals with you--!”

Her eyes shifted, a welling uncertainty forming a pit in her gut and lowering herself into a battle ready stance, “Or perhaps he will reward me for dealing with a pest before he has to know of its nuisance!”

Hornet gave a step back, watching as her focus darted to her and a claw drew back, and in a dangerous and starved giggle, swung the limb with lethal intent.

A bound backward and she toppled backward, over the tail of the towering stead but out of the Termite’s reach, getting up and leapt out of her reach, eye on the tent and breath heaving in her chest before a fiery burst of red illuminated the tent’s maw before her.

Wait…

Oh… _dammit!_

Nearly got eaten by a termite and nothing to show for it, not even...

And there, running from the tent’s tattered doorway was her savior from but an hour before.

“Knight--!”

They skidded to a halt, staring at her with a body posture that rang of surprise that sank quickly to that same hurt from before, and they turned to dash away, “Knight wait--” Their form stopped, but posture did not change, “I did not mean what I said… this town is… almost all this kingdom has left that is still in tact… still alive by some means… it just...” Her breath drew in tight into her chest and rushed out as fast as it had torn in.

“I apologize… for my rudeness before… I did not intend to hurt you… I did not realize you were so deeply connected to such a small town, little Knight” And with that her breath gain pressed from her, own eyes shifting to lock with the ground and trace patterns over the ground.

She lifted gaze briefly, their posture still had not shifted, “I see now why you had wanted to bring me here… it is quite the intriguing spectacle, it was unfortunate I could not catch sight of the Troupe Master as well--” Her eyes again shifted to the Knight, and their posture had still not changed, she frowned.

“Why was it you wanted me to see this, was it simply to show me it?”

They gave a soft shake of their head and it was then that Hornet noticed it.

They were shaking.

And it dawned on her, this was a hatchling, “You were scared...” And the Knight gave a soft and turned round, black void like liquid spilling from their very sockets and hands in tight fists.

It was then instinct, to kneel, a sibling was still a sibling. “Come here...”

Their steps were hesitant at first but they toddled nearer and into her arms, to which she picked them and kept them pressed to her being, this was too much for one being to take on, and here she had fought them with her all but a few days ago.

Glancing about she sighed, and walked forward into town, catching sight of the far standing Elderbug and mking eye contact for the first time in many a moon. “Ah! My lady Hornet, how might I be able to help you this fine evening, I see you have the traveler with you, my! The poor thing is shaking like a leaf!”

It was that paternal instinct in him that rang through his voice soft and gruff, and hands lifting, ginger and soft, and cupping a hand to the Knight’s back and feeling the soft tremor coursing through their being.

“You wouldn’t happen to still have that room would you...”

  
  


“This is not a permanent thing… I don’t even know if you sleep...”

The Knight stared at her from their place tucked into the cot and gave a gentle wiggle of their feet from beneath their blanket, to which she could do little but chortle and shake her head and watch them snuggle down in the blankets and lay their head on the pillow.

It had taken roughly an hour to scrub the stains from her cloak, let along from the Knight’s shell, and it settled somewhere deep within Hornet’s core that though she still did not trust this little shadow, she would not see them weep… for the sake of her cloak and he energy to clean it.

Curling down into her own cot she gave her own sigh, humming low, comfortable for the first time I ages but… empty… was it really even worth it… to help one little vessel?

Wouldn’t they leave as well?

Why even have any hope if you would just lose your reason for it later…

She had no hope left to begin with to lose…

And she shut her eyes...


	2. Facing Fear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so, decided that every other Wednesday I'll be posting some 5k chapters, but every Wednesday I'm going to post something until this is done, here's about 2.5k and a peek at my take on a power-mad god ;)

Was it _really_ worth it…

A tug at her cloak and she didn’t so much as glance down to the source of the sensation, gentle and polite but insistent as they were. Her hand lowered to meet with the smooth shell of the far shorter insectoid’s and gave a gentle press back, pushing the knight back, to which they slid with little resistance over the gravel and cobblestone ground of dirtmouth’s town square, her own form seated on the bench.

She knew what they wanted her to do--

And she wasn’t having it, she refused to leave her post and allow that termite to leave that termite to decimate the innocents of this town and wipe out the remainder of this kingdom with it.

That monster of a bug’s eyes had not left her form in any moment she had been visible within the line of the tent’s own neatly stitched frame. She could even from here feel through the forms of the troupe’s steed and the white glean of her stare and the hungered burn of it-- She dared not think of the possibilities of an innocent life being lost to her.

Her hand moved to clutch to the pin on her shoulder, only to spy the widespread claspers of the fuzzy palm of the knight’s hand aimed for the hem of her cloak and the hand shifted idly from their place mid-air to place the point of her forefinger in the center of her new shadow’s palm (such a statement could be taken rather literally at this point).

The claspers curled in and ever gently grasped the tip of her finger, she sighed and let her head drop forward, opposite arm with its elbow on her knee, glancing to the tent. Whatever her name was, she was far too large to leave the tent without tearing it asunder… hmm, the master of the cirque would certainly be furious should she shred something that should take utterly ages to stitch back together by hand with a precious and rare silk woven and recreated-- something so thick would certainly take many moons to recreate such a tremendous shelter, let alone one you can break down and so easily reconstruct before she could come through from Greenpath to the humble town.

Frustration drew it’s heated grind to rest behind her brow, a low grunt in her chest drawing into a growl and standing up from the bench. “ _Alright_ \-- I will go and assist in your search of the missing grubs-- I see not why you need my assistance as you seem adequately equipped in finding me in even moments when I seek a resting minute to myself-- alas--”

A huff flitted from her, glancing again to the macabre cirque tent, letting her hand remain held in the air by the far shorter bug’s hand, and felt a soft squeeze on her lone digit… pausing a moment to look down, the knight stared up at her intently and lifted the free hand, gently patting their own helm’s face about below the socket.

Hmm?

“I have something on my face…?” She paused, moving to brush her free hand, only to spy the shake of their head, and the repeated tap. She took a moment, watching them take a drag of their hand down the surface as though one’s running tears might spill… like one was cry… like they had when they were--

“Am I scared…?”

Their arm lowered, so she had gotten it right.

She gave a huff, haughty in nature, eyes closing and puffing out her chest, “I fear nothing, I have nothing to fear that does not already know to fear me, oh Knight--”

~~Liar.~~

They squeezed at the tip of her digit, firmer now… as though they knew, and turned their head toward the gleaming red tent in all its nigh nightmarish glory, calling her own attention to it with a soft and silent pull of their gaze, returning their stare to gaze up at her with their ever wordless but clear intent in their posture.

_You’re scared of the tent too… aren’t you…?_

It was all it said… no… what was she talking about, it couldn’t say anything, it was just a vessel, empty… it had to be… it… had to be. After all she’d done, she couldn’t comprehend the willingness to seek her company… was it not a world decaying in this time? Was it not a land of ‘every bug for themselves’?

~~You’re one to talk.~~

“I fear what may happen to the innocent lives of this town should I leave my place stationed here… the termite in the far domicile seeks my shell on a platter for her next meal. Our… introduction was less than… let us call it pleasant...” The knight again squeezed her digit, but this time gave a subtle tug, “What… I have no control of whether she has a lust for my chitin to clean her mandibles in the evenings--”

~~No, you went and ruined that, you clumsy oaf.~~

“It is the decision of her master should I be worth salvage or consumption”

With that, the little knight’s gaze shifted to the ground in a quickness and then to the tent behind them, then back to Hornet, and back round to the tent, as though contemplating something.

“Little Knight what do you have on your mind-- is something the matter?” Her question was, in turn, punctuated by the knight running toward the tent after a split moment of a tensed posture and disappearing into the tattered maw of the main tent.

“Kn-Knight!”

Oh, dammit, she needed to start getting a better handle on catching the little fellow before they could dash off like that and meddle into affairs they need not meddle into. This was not something they could bring to the master’s attention without causing a ruckus within the troupe’s caste.

By the stars, they would find their shell split on the ground by the rate they were going, what gods still lived in this world, how did they have the fire in that tiny body to face a fear that had brought them to tear but so few days ago…

And before she could so much as breathe, the answer presented itself to her in the form of memory.

Their short form with weapon outstretched, proud in stature, and her own voice rang out those same words.

Because they are a knight…

Fear has no place in the heart of a valorous knight is what father had always said, as he himself has once played role as a knight to the White Lady-- or… that was what father had _told_ her. Her mother had sworn he had been true to his grad tales of legendary knighthood, a champion of the fair root and all her glory.

But… there was much she could not believe were she to think back on her happiest of days and the warmth she had felt, the days surrounded by the many siblings… no… the vessels that had been born of the man’s cruel decision to damn them to such short lives-- and the years they all fell away to little more than tear-stained memories.

Some had fallen to ash, too weak to live beyond their first pupation--

Others had shown such energy and life, fire and power, love and will to be-- and in the next day all that had been found were their shell and the black chitin collapsed over the cold stone hall floors.

And others still had lived through to their second pupation, to true childhood…

And then the culling came and…

Eyes pressed shut as though deep in thought, exhaling a breath and in the next moment, that familiar tug, akin to a curious weaver’s webbing catching the hem of her cloak, a subtle clench, and her eyes reopened, looking down to the source of the familiar tug.

A tremor wracked the other’s form, but their body language rang of true pride, confidence, and the little knight gave a soft nod.

They had… spoken to him in her stead…?

Faced their fear for her… oh, dammit, now she really did owe them.

Heaving a slow and deep breath and looking to the tent, and turning round, her gaze focusing on the far well-- “Did he state that he would see to it she would remain stationed within her current confines...” It was not a question, but a prerequisite, she could not leave this place unless this answer was yes.

Stare shifted, locking back onto the far shorter bug… vessel…

Knight paused, staring at her in wait for her attention, and nodded, “He will speak to her?” Again they gave a subtle nod, firmer now as though proud of their accomplishment. She remained silent, thinking deep… did she trust his word…?

What if she left before he took the time from his day to speak to her.

What if he ignored the request… he could be lying… it could be a farce to push them off his back.

It could all just be--

Her eyes pressed from their place and returned to the far set tent, the glinting stare of the towering beast of an insect gleaning her starved smile through the shaded cover of her tent and peering just beyond the corner of the towering beast to narrow the lone stark white hue at her. A curl of the tremendous claw and a fist clenched but she exhaled.

Trust… Hornet… show trust…

Knight knew what the Troupe master was willing to do should she disobey.

It was what sparked their fear in him…

This fire, and will, and this drive to help, this breathing and living brand of fear that lived within their shell, this made them stand apart from the vessels she had known… didn’t it?

Her breath rushed from her, something she hadn’t known she had been holding. “Alright… I will go with you...” Their figure lit up akin to a struck flint’s sparking the driest of kindling-- “But this is not something I would like to make an everyday event, little Knight” They gave a firm nod, and darted forward.

Instinct nearly rushed for her to flit back, but ah, far too late, it should seem the huntress’ legs would find themselves bound by the petite and winding arms of the far shorter other. A sigh and she gave a subtle glance toward the towering cirque and its ever-threatening gleam of scarlet and macabre nature.

“Come… before I change my mind...”

  
  


Sweeping and akin to the cool brush of ash to stone, his steps were silent… as they had always been, a trait he had come to know in his many eons over these many planes--

“Divine...”

The Termite’s form stiffened but her claws clacked in a semblance of bright eagerness, “Master! Whatever should gift me with the delight of a private encounter, sire?” She was polite, resolute in her act… as she had always been… but she had made the mistake of angering him but one encounter before, she knew his fear… and he could taste the fear on her.

“It has come to my attention you have lashed out against one of the denizens of this kingdom...”

The shell of her visible face paled beyond its already so pallid white, the smile remaining in its icy and unfaltering poise of its anchored mimicry of emotion, but his expression twitched into that of amusement, wings giving a flutter and stepping nearer as they unfurled, arms unfolding from their place as that terror, at last, blossomed from the fear in her throat.

“Did I not expressly state this kingdom would be that of untouchable… no one was to have so much as lain a claw on without my express permission and I find… you have attempted to slay a potential member of the ritual…?”

The fear blossomed in her chest, prickling claws bringing her form to draw her backward and claws clenching in tighter, no longer grasped together in the elated manner of greeting but seeming akin to a cornered beast before the slaughter.

“Does it amuse you to anger me… Miss Divine...”

And the mask of pleasantry at last shattered, fear to breakthrough.

“My lord-- m-master, I m-must apologize for my insolence… the insect had been but an intruder seeking to attack you in your encounter with the young vessel, sire--” Her claws carried her further back, frown blooming across her ace and marring her face with that same splendid fear like a bruise.

“You mean the Daughter of Hallownest”

He did never quite tire of recognizing the shades of shock that painted another’s face, the recognition, the horror, the fear for the punishment to come, the realization of such a looming title had been seeking only to protect her kingdom.

To see the palest one’s shell could get as the other took to shrinking into her shell as far as it would allow her, the grey and crimson winged entity hummed low, “This will be the only warning you will receive, Lady Divine… should you so much as lay a claw on her...”

He stepped nearer, form rippling between shades, towering beyond its limits, truest of nightmares unveiling themselves in whirling blooms of violent reds and lashing shades of crimson. His form rippled into ungodly images of all-seeing eyes, many toothed maws, clawing mitts that tore too near to grasping at the termite and the thundering pulse of an unearthly heart pounding in her skull.

“ _N o t h i n g w i l l s t o p m e f r o m f i n d i n g y o u. . .”_

And in the next blink of his blinding eyes, the form before the termite reverted to that of the slim and eloquent moth, “Do we understand one another, Miss Divine...”

Perfect silence followed his words, the tremor of terror rattling the other’s form beyond the capacity for speech, to which he nodded, “When she returns, the moment you have the capacity to… request her presence, seek out the vessel if you must to acquire her company… and make amends for your failure to me in ignoring my orders.”

She gave a low nod, still shaking akin to a tremoring leaf on the worst of wind-torn branches.

“Do not fail me again, Divine… this is the last I will warn you on the matter before you will receive a manner of punishment for this disobedience” And with a soft swirling whirl of wings winding back about himself, arms crossing, he turned on heel and stepped from the smaller of tents to watch the form of the white shelled insect disappear through the stony well of the far standing well beyond the town’s furthest edge.

Daughter of Hallownest indeed…

It had certainly been many a year, had it not, Lady Hornet...


	3. Grubhunting and Negotiations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes you take time to accept a new sibling...  
> Sometimes it's something you decide you need...  
> And then sometimes it's something they need

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a warning, beyond here, Grimm is a bit controlling to anyone that disobeys him and he shows some abusive traits but that's sorta just how I like a power mad god might be, y'know?
> 
> Otherwise, this is another commissioned chapter, hence 5k+  
> Hope y'all enjoy!
> 
> You can donate for another chapter faster at https://ko-fi.com/cagnition  
> 20 gets a 5k chapter!

“Knight, get out of the tree...”

They were still resolute as ever, even in their most malleable moments, in times like this, set to a task of saving everyone from a fate unjust, such as being trapped within the confines of a glass container, but to see them scuttling back, eyeing the distance, looking between the ledge and the furthest platform, and bounding to it, then to the next branch and higher still toward the grub she had spotted.

She had offered to free the trapped bug, but they had been adamant.

This was their task, their ordeal to free the poor other insect from.

And no matter how much she tried...

“Knight… get _out_ of the tree… there is no way you are to be able to reach the grub from your current location without wings, you are going to fall and hurt yourself, get _down_ here”

They would _not_ listen to her…

They gave a soft hunch, glancing down at her, then to the far platform.

“Knight, you are not a weaver I will _not_ be catching you if you fall again” Oh yes she would, she had already scraped the chitin of her knees three times now diving to catch them in this spot alone despite knowing they would take no damage from such a tumultuous fall.

And their form bound forward, her breath catching in her throat as they soared forward through the air with a bound to land on the second platform, and clip over it to leap again-- further, sailing, a flash of brilliant white to carry them further and--!

The sound of nail to glass and it’s immediate shatter.

She wouldn’t admit it, but the relief that flooded her with the elated squeal of the grub and the scuttling dig into the earth to return to the home far off in the distant reaches of the Forgotten Crossroads. Their father had to be utterly worried sick…

Hmm….

Father…

Her head lowered, gaze shifting to hanging in the empty space and through the grey space between the foliage and the spilling light illuminating the grounds surrounding.

How long had it been since she had had someone to worry about her… how many moons… no, how many years-- centuries…

How long had she been alone.

Hand drifted, lifting to clutch to the pin on her left shoulder, feeling the intricate poured pale ore and its sculpted Weaver and its pronounced thorax, the King’s Brand over its being and the glimmering red stone set beneath it in the days before it had been gifted to her.

The winding vines that bound the Weaver to its stone felt familiar… strong and unshaken in its form, but the subtle leaves to the winding coils of the foliage didn’t have the same detail they did all those centuries ago. The flora missing the faintest veins they had once been subject to the tracing of her fingertips in idle moments of silence too deep to do much more than think and draw lines over something familiar and dear.

How many moons had it been since she had company that would not so easily be slain…

~~The same will happen to them, you will only bring ruin to this kingdom, the Knight will fall, you will follow in their step...~~

Eyes shut with a soft roll of the lids, hum low in her chest and hand clenching if only faintly tighter about the pendant pin adorning the shoulder of her cloak to keep it shut, a breath pressed from her chest. Come now, Hornet… do not think on such dark subjects… this is to be a day of simpler tasks… though the locations of these many lost grubs were coming to be more obscure by the minute.

But again her mind wandered…

Would such trivial suffering have existed in her father’s perfect kingdom…

~~Think of the thousands that are dead…~~

What if she had not ruined things as she had…

~~The lives wasted in the name of your cowardice...~~

What if she had not run…

~~How many died at your hand, Hornet.~~

These prisons made for these innocents… the husks… the lost lives… _it was all her fault--_

_Tang! Tang! Tang!_

Her eyes snapped back to wide almond rounds from their guilt weighted, half-lidded haze, and darting back round and high to spy Knight staring down at her with the emotionless gaze and their nail in hand, tapping it to the exposed stone of the platform they had last freed the trapped grub. The moment clicked by with a shuddering drag, and a jolt of realization as the Huntress realized she had been caught in a moment caving toward the darker thoughts that lingered toward the far corners of her mind.

Silence held reign a moment longer, the beasts and possessed entities of the grounds the only sound to fill the place before she could claw her way to find words and clamber back to her senses like some befuddled teen caught on some semblance of shame.

“Yes, my apologies, Knight-- let us return the surface to rest for the evening-- I have yet to make rounds within the grounds of Dirtmouth’s confines and I fear the termite may have feasted in our absence.” Her feet shifted beneath her, moving to step to leave and turning back round to wait for the other with needle strung neatly to her back.

And they remained where they were, shifting a moment and returning their nail to its place on their own back but looking back to the ground and then to the platform far beyond.

She arched a brow, “Is something hindering you, oh Knight”

There was a moment, stepping nearer to stare up at the vessel as their hands lifted from beneath their tattered cloak to hover but inches apart and spark a gleaming arc of startlingly bright white… look to her far below and shake their head. To her, it was familiar as the very energy coursing through her veins, just as Void acted as her Ichor-- Soul.

“You have no Soul to make the jump...”

Her tone was disbelieving, arms crossing and tapping her sharp-pointed foot with the arched brow, watching the other pause a moment before nodding their head almost shamefully.

She breathed a deep sigh, thinking deep and stilling the tapping heel.

What could be done… they could always jump down-- no… the thorns might lance them through-- and she couldn’t have that on her hands… she had seen them take the damage in the battles here but burn through their supply of Soul with an eagerness at the very sound of the trapped grublings.

And every time she had warned them against it, they gave an adamant shake of their head, it was needed as it was needed to save those in need, not just their own shell.

This was the duty of a Knight

At least, that was the gist of what she had gotten from them and their remarkably clear pantomimes… or maybe it was something about their body language combined with it?

She gave a glance between the platform and the flora and earth overtaken shelf the little shadow had found themselves trapped on. Eyes flitted to the thorns and back up, “Have you cleared such a jump of this breadth before without your dash without falling...”

They paused, looking down and then to the platform, then back to Hornet and gave a firm nod.

“Do you believe you have the capabilities to make this gap now...”

A second, firmer, nod of which she returned.

“I have faith in you, little Knight”

And they lifted their head, as though in disbelief, and squared their petite shoulders, nodding, and backed themselves up a few steps, hunkering their form low and readying themselves for a grand sprint before moving to bound forward.

And great form-- it… would have been.

Raised root’s curled hook caught their foot nearest the edge and the bound’s momentum carried them forward but toppling into a round, short of the platform’s edge only to bonk their helm into its corner and fall backward in a faint arch toward the jagged barbs below.

Breath shot into Hornet’s chest, a tightness clenching its icy grip about her heart and wrenching down on her gut, eyes wide-- no… no no _no no nonono…_!

Her body moved before mind could process, bounding with a flitting leap, a spun thread of silk nabbing the other from the air as they toppled toward the razored points, catching them in a delicate but strong loop about their midsection, tugging them back and into her arms-- the pair then plummeting through the air.

Form spun round in the fleeting milliseconds that passed and in a blinding flash of shocking white energy and the breeze kissed over their shells as they shot forward and fell through the air to land akin to petals on grass.

Hornet’s arms unfolded from around them, carefully setting their feet back to the ground, concern written on her face, with pitch gleaming eyes darting to survey where they had clipped their shell against the platform-- a chip visible. Dark tears had begun to well in their sockets, a hand to their brow where their helm had made contact with the crumbling stone.

“Oh no, Knight, you’ve chipped your shell-- oh, this will not do” Breath pressed from her, did she even know how to heal this sort of thing-- would they even get bigger?

Or would this remain their shell for the remainder of their life?

Memories flitted through her mind, brief and vivid despite their age--

‘ _Oh, you’ve gone and hurt yourself… let me kiss it better’_

‘ _My child, your helm-- come, allow me to heal you’_

But which route was she to take… method of the father, and to focus energy via a brushed hand… or mother’s gentle care and a kiss to the brow to distract from the pain.

She was a child of the Beast and the King…

Why should she have to choose to make her sibling feel better?

“Come… Knight, I will make the pain cease…” Her tone held a softness, subtle patience, sympathy and pity in her expression, carefully lifting her sibling’s hand to survey the damage and the dark bead of Void spilling through to bloom and evaporate. Opposite hand carefully took to running up and down the shorter bug’s back, if only to ease their nerves and calm the terrible shake that had overtaken their being.

Her hand gently gave the other’s a squeeze, pressing it on release of their far smaller claspers to the leaking helm, a soft glow of silvered white washing over her palm and seeping into the smooth shell of the other, the trickling black slowing its pace streaming through her fingers and dissipating into the air until at last no darkness could be seen and the other’s shaking stilled.

Hand slid aside, brushing thumb over the now smooth once wounded helm, “There we are...” And she paused, dipping her head to press her mouth to the other’s once injured shell, a soft kiss to the smooth helm and leaning her head back a faint smile graced her head back, pleased to pay homage to the parents that had brought Hallownest to its glory.

~~Only for you to destroy it--~~

“Kissed it better, little Knight”

And her gaze shifted from the wound to spy Knight making quick work of the lingering tears of black and mopping at them with the hem of their cloak, only to smear the remaining mess in dirty streaks over the white surface of their face.

But their stare never left her, as though in shock.

Their hand dropped the now blackened cloak hem and pressed to her own red cloak, then back to their own over their chest and then back to hers-- then again, faster this time and gave a small bounce as though giddy.

Confusion painted its path into her expression, head tilting, “I do not grasp what you are attempting to convey, little Knight” Their hands moved quick in that next moment, holding apart from one another and sparking that brilliant gleam of Soul once more and pointing to her again and tapping their helm--

The hand returned to pointing to her, and then back to themselves.

‘ _You’re like me-- we’re just like each other!’_

She blinked, “Do you mean to imply that we are similar in our gifts?” Their head gave a fast bouncing nod, to which she gave a flitting giggle, shaking her head and standing, a hand to her chest as she turned from the other to walk toward the mouth of the room that had conspired this pain, turning round to face the other once more.

“I would certainly desire to believe we are similar, do you not recall that we are of the same blood, little Knight?” And their shoulders slackened, shock finally striking them, well, that answered her question.

“Come-- we must return to the surface, the stains may set on your shell and I fret on how to remove them once such a thing should occur.” Her voice was nigh playful, spinning round with wide gait, bounding forward as the small knight stood still in their stupor. Head gave a hard shake, skittering to run after the huntress--

‘ _Hey, wait a minute, what do you mean by of the same blood--!’_

  
  


  
  


_T_ _he town was safe…_

It was far from an understatement to say that she felt, no sign of empty shells, not even a bite mark on a denizen’s carapace, the little Knight had been right in that the town would be safe in the Troupe master’s hands, but it left her wondering just what sort of state the lady termite had in turn been left in.

Dark shades of charcoal fell over the skies, the night reigning in its hold and the rare find of the call of the cots of their gifted abode beckoning to the little knight after their great ordeal and the five grubs rescued from their glass prisons.

It seemed even with a full heal to restore their helm to a pristine glimmer, Knight had taken quite the hit to their energy, dragging their feet by the time they reached the Temple’s far edge, needing to be carried to their cot from the moment the chain found their way out of their claspers.

Tucked beneath the weight of the woven blankets, mask scrubbed of the streaking pitch and idle chiding that the poor dear needn’t cry so frivolously, for fear of the damage that should be done to their poor shell with the needless scrubbing-- though it seemed it only brought a lovely shine to its surface (Perhaps she should take to such a regiment).

And it wasn’t long before she watched them wiggle beneath the covers and curl onto their side, tucking away and falling still with slumber.

It was almost strange to see their form know peacefulness, lack of expression to match their helm--

But it left her to remember what had transpassed in the days before…

The streaking blackness that painted Void down their face-- the spike of frustration that mounted its white-hot knife between her brows and focused her stare on the doorway to the hut, the vision of the towering tent sculpted within the back of her mind-- wrenching its claws through and tearing through to clarity and rending clearer and clearer still.

What sort of brute would strike such fear into an innocent entity for the sheer sake of fear…

Fists tightened and with a swift gentle press from her own cot, swinging her cloak back around shoulders, clasping ivory white pin to the crimson fabric and throwing open the door to slip through quieter than the breeze itself and the door pressed shut behind her before a second flitted step could be made.

The cannibal glow of the far tent, brilliant and scarlet by design, was the only thing to demand her attention, consuming her vision and its tunneling focus.

What had happened to the termite woman…

Why had she not sought out her next meal?

Flitting forward with a swinging glint of silk, beneath the glint of the town’s light, Hornet’s form sailed through the air with ethereal grace and a refusal to be denied answers this time. An idea instilled in this moment to find the truth behind the fear that had found its root within the little knight now resting within the far building--

This demand to find its source fiery in her chest and demand to know who would have the capacity to frighten the unshakable shadow.

This was not attachment…

~~Then why call them related by blood~~

Because that is what they are--

~~Why heal their pain~~

Why leave them to suffer--

~~Why care for an empty vessel only meant to fall to dust~~

Knight is _not_ empty…

Hornet’s steps faltered, landing with a soft stumble and furrowing her brow, hand winding firm about the handle of her needle and clenching tight.

Not now…

She did not need to fight herself on this _now_.

But if not now… then when?

“ _A-Ah!_ L-Lady Hornet, I presume?”

Her form jolted, eyes tearing through the air and form jolting down into an alert and battle-ready crouch, needle at her side and drawn with a coiling thread of silk carried on the subtle breeze and glinting in the dangerous crimson glow of the towering cirque tent.

A lone glinting eye caught her attention within the far shorter tent’s maw, but… it didn’t… have the same burning hunger to it. Was that a semblance of fear she could feel tingeing the very fringe of it… or were her senses betraying her-- her needle lowered, stance loosening but grip did not loosen.

“What is it you want--” Her tone was forceful, demanding and curt-- no will for nonsense nor any hint of could be mercy with the given hiss at the fringe of her tone. Brows furrowed in tight, eyes narrowing and darting to the sides, not daring allow any side to be taken by surprise by an unsuspected attacker.

“I-I require nothing but your presence, my lady--” Her claws crossed, legs clattering to pull her massive being nearer to the tent’s edge with a powerful press of her tremendous form.

My lady… _my lady_ \--

She _knew_.

How was it she knew of her status-- no one outside of the native-born children of Hallownest knew the stories of the Wyrm and Root, the Weavers alliance, the Hive, and their Fall-- and the Daughter of Hallownest. Someone had to have told her but no one within this village had the nerve to so much as approach the tent without a plethora of protection at their side.

Namely hers…

Her hand clenched faintly tighter, eyes narrowing, “You have it, speak--”

There was a stuttered moment where the towering bug seemed to be ready to crack her sudden willingness to show a welcoming aura to the huntress of Hallownest’s sprawling grounds, but a split second of that sneer before the fear returned nigh tenfold.

“I sought to properly apologize for my rudeness the other night, my lady-- and introduce myself as a charm smith of sorts; Divine--” Her head bowed, jagged claw dipping before herself in a modified attempt at a curtsy.

Face remained taut in a fairly disbelieving stare, eyes locked on the other, “You speak of your attempt to slay me, yes… for seeking to protect my sibling on unfamiliar grounds, yes?” The termite, now given the name of Divine, tensed faintly, smile now terse as the fear drew icy in her veins as though she would be able to reach out and touch it should it get too much stronger.

“The master would not lay harm to thyne sibling, my lady-- not while their assistance is required for future business within the Troupe!”

And distrust fell away, replaced then by realization and anger anchoring then in its place.

“Not while their assistance is required, mm?”

Divine’s form tensed visibly, a claw lifting to cover her mouth as Hornet turned toward the main tent of the cirque’s towering form, this was by no means not something she had intended, the very concept of unveiling the Master’s plan not on her mind, but this girl was quick-witted-- sharper than the needle in her hand.

“Wait! W-Where are you going, my lady!”

She did not attempt to turn her head, stride forceful and sharp in every step, grip tight about the beloved weapon in her grasp, mind racing with the could be and would be ideas of what may or may not happen should Knight find themselves too trusting of an unfamiliar face and lend their assistance to an entity she knew only the shadowed silhouette of and knew naught the true origin of.

Her mind flitted to golden light, the possibility of those sickening amber shades bleeding through the scarlet reds and saturating through…

Pitch sockets burning through to red and in the next moment to gold--

_No!_

Her pace picked up to a sprint, racing through the tent’s stitched frame and onto the wooden floor, the sound of accordion music flooding her ears with the tall form of a masked bug to her left tirelessly and passionately playing at the instrument playing a nigh haunting melody for the tremendous and decadently lush decorated cirque structure.

Her steps did not slow, darting forward with weapon tight in hand, fury in her eyes and in the next moment, the musician spun round from his place with a graceful pirouette and leap to block her path--

She didn’t dare slow herself, no this was not the master, but this was certainly someone devoted enough to bound into danger without the slightest hint of hesitation.

His melody did not slow, shifting if only slightly-- a warm and low tone boomed to her, “Full of anger are you not, fair visitor-- seeking the Master’s attention, aye? He may not show kindness should you approach with a weapon at the ready” Her eyes flitted to the man’s hands, watching them trill over the buttons and keys in flitting patterns, to the untrained it only sounded to be a shift in its chorus, but to a warrior the melody falling out of sync with itself to trill and a whimsical flutter to its tune...

It was an alert.

“Nor will I appreciate your alerting the Master of my weapon’s being drawn, bard”

He seemed to falter, head lifting, shoulders seeming to slack if only faintly in surprise before a chortle left him, his melody resuming with a forward stride as her stance drew to a flexible poise, hand slack and clasping the handle to her needle at the ready for the other to lunge for means of an attack.

“It is not often one knows when to listen for the tones of a stranger’s song so quickly for an alert to the higher beings that guide us” His amusement shown through in the tilt of his head and the careening curl of the accordion between his hands, as with the soft press of his form from the central and proud stance to a showman’s curling almost dancing turn back round to round back to his place once before found standing nearest the towering and velveteen drapes decorating the wooden walls.

Confusion washed down her spine, blinking a moment, nearly opening her mouth to ask why the other did not simply lunge to fight her--

“It is rarer still we have a guest so late in the evening, is it not, Brumm?”

Her question found itself answered in a voice that rolled with a subtle gruffness that she could only find a matching descriptor in the way the embers rolled with the coals in a roaring blaze, as ash and charcoals tumbled. Smoother than silk and yet growlingly dark--

Her form spun around with a flitting quickness, nigh quick as one may blink the eye, crouching for a battle that did not come and void coursing in her veins and pulsing for the means to strike any that might lay the hand on her.

Such a chance never came.

But the form of the stranger’s silhouette was at last unveiled, the radiant gleam of red surrounding in the tent did little to bring down the menacing aura of him-- wound in the charcoal grey cloak that had shrouded his figure, this entity towered over her and stared down at the huntress with too bright and nigh amused crimson eyes centered beneath those long pitch lines that drew perfect slitted paths down his shell.

His grin was visible on the white shell of his helm, faint as it was, it was there and drew a sparking and white-hot heat to burn in her chest, grip tightening on her needle.

She knew this man… why did she know him.

He, in turn, broke the tense silence with a shift of his gleaming black chitinous foot to stand the littlest bit more proudly to give what one may have considered a performer’s bow. “I am Grimm--” The name struck a chord, why did it strike a chord, “--Master of this Troupe, to what do we owe such a pleasure of your visit so early into the splendor of the evening, my friend?”

Her form remained tensed a moment longer before raising to its full, and yet unimpressive before this lithe other’s, height. “What purpose did you take in bringing the Knight to know fear in your first encounter enough to weep”

His expression did not shift, only seeming to draw more amusement from the cold frustration in her tone. “And what should draw you such guarding desire to defend the young warrior from the fretting dues of emotion to be had within the world surrounding, my lady”

“I take guard in their fallen tears when it is my sibling made to weep… Troupe Master”

His grin faltered, and in turn, a smirk picked its path low across her own shell, low and faint and gone in the next moment as she recalled the tremor that had overtaken the child’s form.

“Might I as well, Troupe Master, request what your charm smith meant by no harm coming to the knight throughout the durations of business to be had with the troupe?” And it was as though a mask of his own had come into place, pleasant and cool and collected, warm and gentile but fiery ad rich with the showman’s passion from before.

There was a fleeting glance however to the doorway of the tent before returning to Hornet’s own frame. “Might I ask as well, how is it as well, she knew my status as lady in these grounds without local intelligence gathered lest one of the denizens of this kingdom should have joined your Troupe to tell of the history and lineage?”

His hands seemed to unclasp the cloak, stepping to the right to step round with an artful stride and a flaring sweep of his hand, “Our Troupe has known prouder lineage from many countries, my friend, many kingdoms have known of our glory, joined our family and shared in our history--” Her brow furrowed as the other rounded to clasp hands behind his back akin to a noble-born count before another.

It screamed in her veins, the white-hot Soul howling at the falsities in the air and she sheathed the needle on her back to allow arms to hang neatly at her sides, hands folding before her abdomen.

“Lying...”

He paused, blinking, the stark hues closing from the sides as though the man himself were baffled. “I beg your pardon.”

“I have record of every denizen that has ever walked these ruins… the winds beyond the cliffs are too powerful for any bug to leave without the proper magical equipment, lest they themselves be that of higher being birth.” Her face fell from amusement to an unreadable firmness.

“If you are to lie to a bug, choose one that does not defend its people, Troupe Master.”

Grimm’s brows themselves furrowed a moment, a chortle in his chest, ashen in sound, as though in itself truly amused by the fact that he had in fact been caught. Brumm’s melody faltered, eyes beneath the mask and hood widening faintly before he jolted back to his song, “I believe that I must thus apologize, my lady… I myself have once known these grounds as something of a fond place of memories”

His arms unfolded to neatly tug one side of his cloak back neatly about his form, the opposite arm keeping its place neatly folded behind his back in a poised manner of eloquence.

It seemed as though there was nothing about him that did not have an essence of showmanship to it.

There was no lie to these words… hmm… she supposed she could count it as truth for the time being.

“Perchance is this the inkling as to why you have some semblance of a memory misfiring in the far reaches of my mind” Hands shifted from neatly folded to arms crossing, frustration visible in her expression in this moment, the nigh noble collected air lingering but warped by her sway by the frustration at this damnable familiarity.

Again there was that chortle, brow not furrowed in this moment, airy and subtler, not enough to stutter the music but enough to earn a glance from the unsuspecting musician.

“Perhaps it is, my Lady Hornet”

So, she was right… someone had known her name and the stories.

That was how Divine had learned her title… it had to be… right? Of course… of course, it was. No there had to be something more to this but she had nothing else to go on and no way to get anything out of him.

“Your business… with my sibling, with Knight… you are not to lay a hand on them should it come to be a part of your so said _business_ with them. I am not a fool… nor will I stand idly by and watch the last thing connecting me to my father be torn away, sir Grimm”

The man’s expression shifted, it was faint, the way that that the shades of the winter skies were different from one another, silvered and varied and yet so impossible to define from the other but… perceptibly different in your very bones.

“I will see to it, my lady that my dear friend, fair Knight, sees minimal harm in his assistance with my task given to them-- be that alright, my Lady?”

And again that mask returned, true expression shifting back beneath the showman’s lacquered sheen of practiced facial control.

It drew a frown, enough to catch the faintest glint of something in the taller man’s eye… at least for a moment before it was gone.

“Should you go back on your word, I will not stop until the favor is returned tenfold, Troupe Master” And with a curt turn on her heel, Hornet took to striding out the door with head held high, she would not negotiate this beyond these final terms.

It was but a moment, watching the huntress stride with pride and a dangerous eloquence to her stance, arms folded before her form beneath the fluttering cloak-- but he could not help but chortle as she rounded from the tent with head held high and turned to the left with steps carrying her away as though on a mission.

“Is she as you remember her, Master?”

“I believe in her time alone she has come to be more like her father”

“The Wyrm, Master?”

A nod and a deep breath expanded his chest, a low rush of cool crimson mist rushing from on the way out, “If you will excuse me, I believe I am in need of a visit to Lady Divine this evening as well-- she must certainly be terribly alone within the far confines of the secondary structure”

Stepping languid and idle, the drawing click of chitin to wood echoing, his tone rolled, losing ashen tone to drawl round to an echoing growl. Mortality seeming to abandon itself in his tone, beyond but an echo and intonation-- beyond a hum nor an idle hiss… but a peek at the pulse of the Nightmare King's building fury.

Yes, Brumm nodded, swallowing thickly, eyes averting, hands focusing on the accordion in his hands. He feared the day he would ever face such a visit-- and as the Master’s form disappeared beneath the tent’s frame, the terrified cry of the charm smith catching the wind, his eyes pinched shut beneath his mask.

His hands moved firmer than over the keys, music playing faintly louder though his hands shook--

Block it out, Brumm…

Block it out...


	4. To Confront a Tyrant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prophetic dreams are a rarer find, for some they are that of which lead you to odysseys, for others a life destiny--   
> But for some, it is to confront the truth of another's cruelty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one has a fight in it, and I'm not certain how I really am with fight scenes, but I like to think I'm not awful. 
> 
> Overall, after this, it's fairly obvious I'm taking a very non-canon take on Hornet and Grimm, but in the following chapter, I do have a 'nickname' I gave the Pale King, of which I believe to be fitting considering the concept. 
> 
> This is another Commissioned chapter, so it's a 5k Piece

“ _Not right...”_

“ _Not Right...”_

“ _It’s not right, Hornet you must put an end to his cruelty--!”_

“ _Hornet!”_

Gasping, the huntress bolted awake, hand darting for her needle, tearing it from the wall to rest at in her hand, drawn at the ready for any danger that could have awoken her. What had that been-- a voice? Who had been there to speak to her?

Certainly, no one would be dim enough to try and sneak into their hut so late-- hmm, the skies seemed to be coming to their fainter grey hues of day through the window, nevertheless-- no one was dim enough to come into their home without permission.

They would face her wrath, the steely edge of her blade, Knight’s own will short to follow, and they knew it.

But it was most peculiar… not so much as a footstep could be spied in the hut confines, nothing outside of what they had left, no prints to the doors, not so much as shifts to the silt that has sifted beneath the door crack.

Her breathing eased, a sigh pressing from her and grasp on her blade easing to settle it neatly across her lap from her place in her cot. The rustle of blankets however caught her attention, slow to shift attention from the door, Hornet’s gaze drew to rest on the little knight sitting up from their place in their own cot, gently rubbing at the corner of their own mask’s eye socket as though sleep may have collected.

‘ _What happened? Are you alright?’_

“It is nothing you have need to take into your concern, little Knight--” Her gaze shifted, a breath in held for a but a moment as she pondered on the voice that had given her that call. Why did it feel familiar… why did it ache in her chest to hear… after all these years, to hear that--

A small hand pressed to her own, her head lifted with a start, ice in her chest burning and pressing from her in a slow rush, her hand unclenching from about the handle of her needle. The form of the knight at her side with gaze staring directly up at Hornet’s helm, the concern radiating from their very body language alone.

Her hand lifted, brushing fingers to her shell to feel the cool brush of gleaming tears spilling down her cheeks.

Why had that voice hurt her so...

~~You know who that voice belongs to~~

But why now… why some manner of hallucination after all these years.

~~Because he’s here…~~

Who…

And the answer struck her without any further clues to be clawed from the stony earth about this fading town, and her shoulders slackened from their inward drawn coil, put an end to his cruelty.

Who was she looking for… oh she most certainly knew who…

Again that gentle hand with the soft patting claspers called for her attention, faintly more urgent as she swept away her tears with the but of her palm and a frown gritting its way into her brow-- no this was to be saved for when day had broken… confirm this… find proof of it… do not swing your needle so wildly Huntress, lest you have more blood on your hands.

Her gaze shifted, frown faltering, cracking, and falling through to that of an apologetic gaze, her hand beneath the knight’s own lifting to settle atop their head. A soft soothing rub back and forth over the top of their helm, pushing them to lower their head in an almost appreciative manner, “I am alright, Knight… it was simply… let us call it a quest given to me by the beings beyond this mortal plane”

Their head shifted, a hand lifting to push her hand aside to look up to her, a silent question as to whether she were truly being honest, could it have been a bad dream, a nightmare-- no, it was but a request from a face long since put to rest.

“I am fine… I swear it, little one… by my needle’s blade, but I may have to spend my time focused on my own rounds if only for this day.” Her gaze shifted flitting to the direction of that far standing cirque’s direction if only for a moment. But it was too long for the little shadow to miss, their own head pressing up her hand with the both of hers to hold between their own, concern found in the tight hold on her palm.

Brows furrowed, staring still toward the tent, toward the termite woman… toward that Troupe Master’s abode--

He had to have done something to have forced her claw into such a quick apology for a violent lunge but the night before. No self-respecting hunter would give beneath the thumb of another’s demand so quickly, yes-- one’s own morals would decide how they could perceive their prey with the right… persuasion.

It did not know a sense of dread in her gut or curiosity to come to ponder on what could have brought the insect to beckon Hornet’s attention, but it did bring a roiling heat to well in her chest and burn hot behind her brow-- that had not been embarrassment or hesitation that had fueled her stutter-- but pure and unfettered _fear_.

When Hornet’s gaze fell from the far and obscured tent to meet back with the knight’s own gaze, rich with concern, she could swear she could spy the would have been furrowed brows of concern on their shell, knit up in the dire fear of what were to come for her safety’s concern.

“I will come back in one piece, I promise you this, Knight. If I can face such a foe as you and find myself a means to escape with my carapace intact-- I am certain a day’s rounds will be no challenge for me...” Again her gaze shifted without lifting her head from its place, glaring a hole through the stone hut’s wall at the red glow she would envision far beyond the town’s borders.

Whether or not there was a new threat… she had yet to fall to any beast’s bite.

This one just needed to be closer inspected… that was all.

  
  


Knight’s hands clasped Hornet’s own gently, concern clenching tight in their chest, but gave way to allow the red-cloaked huntress freedom to return the hand to its place neatly folded in her lap over the warm knit blanket of her cot.

Upset…

Something the Troupe Master had done had her terribly upset… no, angry-- far beyond what they had ever seen her direct at them, but they knew what she was capable of… claspers held a moment to the side of Hornet’s cot, standing there a moment longer in thought as their own helm dipped deep in thought, frustration mounting its cold heat between their sockets.

But, the fragment of fear that sparked for them at the memory of their first encounter with Grimm… they knew but a shard of what _he_ was capable of.

That burning ice drew hotter… hotter--

 _And an idea struck_.

Charms weighted within the pouch fastened to the inside of their cloak’s confines seemed to weigh a ton in that very moment, and a fleeting glance sparked to it, to their newfound sibling… and the door to this place they hesitated yet to call a home-- for fear it may fall away to that of a dream.

There was a way to make it so that Hornet had no reason to be so angry over the Troupe Master… complete his quest given, and all should be made right…

Right?

  
  


The skies held their usual stale shade of grey, no sign of amber sn as she remembered in her youth, nor the glimmering white sphere that graced the night skies-- just the dim grey to mark it was safe to walk the surface for the time being… at least for those that should find the need to seek themselves shelter--

Hornet’s needle never quite left her hand, even fastened to her back, the tips of her fingers brushed its handle-- ever ready to tear it free and rend into the man behind this frustration building in her chest.

She could see the silhouette of the bug from the night that termite… Divine had first swung her claw at her, the twin horns marking him almost that of devilish, no-- not almost… it was almost amusing to skip over such a detail and call it some semblance of a coincidence.

That glint in his eye… that laugh he had given--

She had no idea when her hand had found its way wound entirely gripped about her needle’s handle, but the creak of her shell and the growl in her throat was barely enough to catch her attention-- what was… as well as the swift near sprint she had begun to take through the town, seemed to alarm the ever-watchful Elderbug waiting beneath the gleam of the town’s lone streetlamp.

“Lady Hornet--!” Her head snapped round, the frustration induced stupor broken if only to tear her into a stance read to rend whatever had startled her to shreds with a swing of her blade, and blinking on sight of the humble elder timidly offering his hands to the air as though to mark he had no semblance of means to hope to fight her-- let alone survive an attack from a kingdom legend.

“My apologies, my lady, I had not intended to give such a fright! You had seemed to be in such a state of ire, I could only wonder what should have earned your rage, Miss Hornet”

She drew a curt breath in and a shorter huff out, averting her gaze and righting her posture in a smooth sweep, “It is nothing of your concern, child…”

Her response was enough to earn a chortle from him, her own expression softening at the sound, brows furrowed, “It has been many a year since I have been called such a title, I thank you, my lady, for such a refreshing change-- but ah, it does little to assure me on what danger could lurk to draw you to such a sense of fury… and in a direction so near of our lonesome town, pray tell, all that could lay beyond are the yonder bluffs and the King’s Pass, yes?”

That… and that damnable cirque so near the town’s borders.

“Yes” Her voice was curt, expression losing the softness it had had but moments before, “I am not going to seek to exterminate it… simply to reason with… the source behind many problems surrounding its confines.” Her words fell in short and choppy almost blocks, as though halting on what to say, uncertain on which phrasing would leave the man the least informed.

Alas, there was a timid glance toward the crimson gleaming tents and back, a shaky sigh leaving him, “I-If you are truly going to… negotiate… Miss Hornet, I would ask that you do take care, the friend you have made has already parted into the crossroads for the cycle’s passing, should you need assistance… I fear I will be incapable of much assistance, but I will be here should you need, my Lady”

The fear rolling from him, at the very idea of stepping beyond the threshold of the tent’s confines and facing the terrors beyond was nigh palpable, but the gesture alone spoke mountains on the kind of bug the Elder was.

She nodded, breathing deep, pressing down at the fiery frustration digging its claws at her to tear her path toward the tent and find some means to bring the towering beast of a bug of crimson and grey from his height so self-inflated to something far more manageable.

No.

You need proof.

Find your proof.

Then have your fury, Hornet.

“I thank you for your offer, Elderbug… I will remember it should I have need…” And with a deep breath, hand at last, forced to leave the needle’s handle, hung to her hand’s side and her stride took a firm pace toward the macabre howling structures that clawed at the once mundane imagery of this dying town’s rolling landscapes.

The Elder gave a soft bowing nod, watching her as far as the gleam of the lamp would allow before her red-framed form vanished into the dark to be consumed, in turn, by the crimson glow of the cirque far beyond… he could only hope that she would be alright.

  
  


Earned this…

You earned this, Divine…

It was all she could think, tracing her claw over the lashing marks that drew over the once pristine shell of her neck-- the three perfect lashing marks that has so narrowly missed the edge of her jaw, and flinched at the faintest ouch to them, a hiss in her throat, opposite claw dropping the mirror in the moment of fire that raced through her shell in a blistering second.

She fumbled, panicked, attempting to catch it, eye pinched shut, knowing it was far too late-- only to hear no sound of it shattering on the hard and compacted stone rich earth.

What…?

White hue pressed open, confusion mixing and overtaking the blistering pain for but a moment before shock itself tore the pair to shreds and the towering termite woman attempted to skitter backward from the form holding her mirror in their hand.

The Weaver halfling-- heiress to the kingdom’s throne, Hornet

The very reason why the Master had shown such fury at her, for her foolish attempt to attack the girl without realizing she was something far more than but a simple insect trespassing or treading too close to the cirque tent and its grounds.

“I knew I had seen fear in your face the last we had spoke, miss Divine… tell me… last we spoke, those claw lashings about your throat were not there, were they” It was not a question from the heiress, and she knew it, the expression from the weaver in red said anything but, no matter the phrasing of the words given.

She could not so blatantly give her words to the other like this, the master would be furious, she could not face another fragment of that horrendous form so close to the last, she dared not think perhaps of what may happen should a third day pass and she catch glance of something closer to a truer facet of the being that may just bear the Nightmare Heart within it’s tremendous being.

“A-Ah, it is but a mark I have yet to cover beneath my beauty regiment, my lady--” Her claws clacked together, smile painting its way into place with ease, and gleaming white hue curling into a coy curve shut with a lift of the claw that had treacherously dropped the mirror on the moment she had but grazed the burn’s surface.

Divine opened her eye to peer down at the dangerous guest before her and felt that fear again spike in her chest on sight of Hornet’s eyes narrowed, and shell rolled with a nigh holy gleam of silvered white-- she had heard the stories of the Daughter of Hallownest-- even of the Pale King in all his glory, but to see it in the flesh was…

_Extraordinary--_

“ _Liar…_ He did this to you, because I called him out on his fault, did he not… do not lie to me, Lady Divine, I will not be sold your falsities when I will only face down that tyrant and see to it either I am slain or he is put in his place, be it piece by piece or in pone fell strike--” The gleam brightened in a sweep as her hand wound about her needle, slipping her weapon from her back to stab into the stony earth.

“Did… he do this to you… because of your slip of the tongue… and my refusal to let his ego slide.”

And her breath held tight in her being, pursing her lips and averting gaze--

Alas, it seemed that was all the answer the girl needed.

“I will see to it he does not do this again, I thank you, my Lady”

She did not make the attempt to reach for the huntress as she turned with an iron wrench of the needle from the earth, and a turn round that whirled her cloak as though the blustering winds had carried her through on its back, grace in its very movements as she stepped from the frame of the tent.

There were but two fates that could come of this:

The Huntress would fall, and the Master’s ire would be fast to follow…

Or perhaps, and she felt the faintest spark of guilt at this want, but perhaps she could strike some semblance of sense into him.

Master, forgive her insolence…

It was then the only thought to fill the towering bug’s mind as she recalled the horrors she had last seen in the days prior… fearing what may come in the day to come should the red-cloaked warrior fail in her task.

Please forgive her…

_Forgive her..._

  
  


Hornet’s hard chitin feet drew firm but nigh soundless steps over the wooden floors, needle drawn, and a firm glance drawn to the musician-- he gave a wary glance, no amused attempt to bound in her way as he had before, Brumm she had believed his name to be.

A voice boomed through the stadium-like tent, sweeping in the way ash plumed from a hearth with the gust of a cold wind from the skies above blusters through and whirls within the confines of the room unheeded-- _“My, a weapon drawn, what ever could have earned such ire, my friend”_

Hornet’s eyes narrowed, and shell rolled with that same glint of shimmering white, “I am not your friend, in this moment, Troupe Master… I seek to speak with you-- face to face…”

His laugh seemed to hiss through the room, from all around, no location seeming to quite be its clear origin, but she could swear she could pinpoint its center being that far above in the rafters high overhead. Her head lifted, rolling the needle in her hand with expression falling from frustration to cool focus-- the laugh drew to an amused hum, as though recalling some far off memory.

There, standing tall at the center of the tent’s central support beams, the troupe master himself, Grimm… eyes gleaming and illuminating the fringes of his cloak about his form and giving an unnatural glow to his shell.

It panged something at the far reaches of her mind… but what… what was it-- why did it feel familiar.

“You seek not to speak with me, but to confront-- for crimes you deem unfit in how I oversee those beneath my wing, yes?”

His tone was almost mocking, as though others had come to him before, demanding him to step back and look at the agony he had wrought on those surrounding him and trusting his leadership, or perhaps whatever unearthly power should have lead him to gather such a willing following to stay at his side even through such torment.

And it steeled the will behind the cool focus settling over her, her shoulders easing though her stance remained dangerous-- “You are correct, alas, I hear in your voice you believe I will be but another easy to frighten foe, perhaps some simple bug to strike your blade at and I will flee, mm?” Her steps carried her nearer, toward the tent’s center, “Yet you yourself told me you were the one to tell your followers of my legends--”

Grimm’s form remained unmoving, shoulders tilting as though amused by her comment, the red gleam about him swirling faintly, building in an almost dangerous sort of glow.

“If you are not a coward, then you will test your nettle to my own… should I win… you will cease in your cruel punishment of those beneath… your wing, as you so put it.” Her tone remained collected, nigh diplomatic as she tread nearer, circling the tent’s ring with gaze on the troupe master as she rounded the arena-to-be.

“And should I win--?”

His interest was piqued, she could hear it in that lilt, the shift in his stance, the quirk of his head, and see it in the way that whirling glow seemed to only froth and build in the dark surrounding his form.

“You claim the glory in putting the end to a legend… you slay me… your cruelty continues, and you claim the right to my legend on your belt of stories to tell to boost this bloated ego you hoist so high above your shoulders--”

There was a moment, a chuckle leaving him, and it built, that glow whirling and building, like smoke, bright and thicker, sparking and arcing like embers before the man himself was consumed himself by a hissing and boisterous showman’s laugh-- and in that very next moment, by the flames themselves.

A thunderstrike of red illuminated the arena, and before her, towering in a gleaming facet of an almost eager curiosity of what should come of it, “I must say, you drive quite the bargain, Lady Hornet, but I must take you up on your offer--”

And her grip drew to a flexible tension over the handle of her blade, her stance holding something on the cusp of ready to lunge but remaining diplomatic, just as his seemed to border itself between eloquence and what beast should lay beneath the facade.

“Then a duel it is...”

With a poised lift of his hand, parting the robes, a snap of his fingers and gates manifested from the same stark red that had once conjured him from the very nothingness and pulled him from high above-- a Higher Being, what Higher Being did she know with these damnable abilities.

None that she had ever gotten on the bad side of--

“A duel it is indeed--”

He gave a forward bow, ever the showman, seeming to honor the aspect of regality and honor in battle… it was refreshing after all this time… to amuse him and return the favor, to give a curl of her own arm outward, from about her chest to curl out with palm upturned, legs neatly crossed and bowing forward.

A bemused smile seemed to have painted its way across the bug’s face, if she could even call him that, as he rose in unison with her, at far ends of the tent, now made arena. Was it rare that an opponent ever followed such a tradition, or did they so simply ignore the honor of it and earn his ire-- nevertheless, it was a matter for later contemplation.

If she had a later for contemplation to be had that is...

And with that, and a forward lunge, she was the first to make her move, his own was to sweep to the side with extraordinary grace, a burst of whirling crimson red smoke consuming him as he tumbled through the air in a spin with a hissing laugh low in his throat.

Silk spun in a split moment to catch the beam nearest her and bring momentum into a halt to vault her backward with a hard swing, the lithe heiress soared through the air to spy the faint glint of crimson manifest high above, and let her feet collide with the wall posts to kick free, toward the floor and dive to the side.

Just in time for his form to manifest in a fiery burst and lash those red hot claws through the air, darting forward after her in a forward slash, watching her ready to vault the readied weapon, and vanishing in the next moment.

Quick, but she was faster.

Eyes flitted to the air, but she wasted little time in keeping still, spinning silk and leaping from the ground to spy the fleeting glimpse of red manifest above her as her feet collided with the wooden post of the tent’s center beam, eyes drawing wide before again moving to ricochet toward the ground.

A snarl but inches from her and the tear of claws through the air split the safe bubble she kept nearest her, the sound of fabric splitting marking just how dangerous this opponent, in fact, could be, hitting the ground and rolling to the side to bounce to her feet, her eyes flitted to her cloak, the left side tattered and scorched up its side, dammit-- this would take utter months to fix--

Wait--

“Such a priceless gift to take with you into battle is it not--?”

The pin…

Hornet’s hand flitted to the torn shoulder of her cloak and a snark cracking the cool shell of her mask, “Give that back”

“Mm?” The towering bug in crimson and black seemed to quirk his head, closing his hand about the pale ore and red stone pin that had long since kept the familiar weight on Hornet’s left shoulder since before the fall of this Kingdom, arching a brow in curiosity, fury? From such a negotiable girl-- my, what a peculiar--

“I said, _give it back!”_ Her voice came that of an unearthly howl, lunging and swinging her needle with the fullest of her strength, Grimm’s own eyes falling wide as he himself narrowly dodged the lunge to spy the heiress ensnared in a whirling cloud of perfect pitch as she vaulted for him, hand outstretched.

A _weakness_ \--

His hand uncurled from about it, dropping it as he kicked from the earth, hand pressing himself back from the ground to vault backward and vanishing in a whirl of scarlet energy.

Hornet’s hand was fast to wind about it, but she was not simple enough to hold still, her rage still held fiery in her chest but not burning hot enough to roil this broiling void surrounding her-- the flicking tendrils of black dissipating as she spun round to ready her needle to dive for the man again as he landed and threw out his arm.

From beneath his arm a flurry of crimson manifestation shot forth, blustering heat roiling from them, and clawing for her, but all seeming to aim for one thing-- the pin.

It was a tuck, a dive to the side, and a vault over the next to slash at the man, his arm lifting to catch her blade, “Why are you trying to take this from me, what value could something like this have to someone like _you_ ”

“Are we not in a duel, my Lady?” His voice strained beneath the strength of her own force, but with a forceful shove, she was thrown back.

Landing over the earth, claws dug into the earth to slow her pace as feet collided with the arena’s edge and a growl left her, kicking from the ground, she charged him, leaping forward, with needle raised to watch him vanish once more in a plume of red.

Head spun round in a hiss, watching the grounds for his form and darting then to the sky to lunge for the very next glint of crimson she spied. Needle drawn, the manifested form of the other seemed nigh shocked to watch the other rocket toward him--

Narrowly enough time to dodge, her needle swung and a snarled hiss left him, a slash meeting his side, again vanishing in a plume of red to manifest on the ground, her silk catching her on the rafter to carry her swiftly to the soil. “Did you think this would be so easy a battle for you, Troupe Master--”

“Ah, but what are legends if not based on truth, my Lady”

He seemed to grin despite the hand met with his side, pleased to see that after all this time someone had, at last, managed to match his speed, but he had to end this… or she may actually be able to end _him_.

Lunging, Grimm’s arm lashing through the air, Hornet ducked, pitch eyes watching as perfect scarlet eyes caught hers and crimson painted hand swept low to claw at her, rending for her chest but making little purchase outside of digging into her hand not clutching her needle-- tearing the pin from her hand to send it flying through the air.

A cry tore from the huntress, attention tearing toward the precious gem-adorned pin, _‘There’s the opening I need’_ And as far as he knew, this would be the only he would get--

And with a hard slam round, spinning his form round to dig his foot round and drive it into Hornet’s form, the warrior’s form slammed back first into the ground, a second stomping kick of the opposite leg and a stuttered curse from Hornet with a glared wince, the needle skittered across the arena grounds to lie to the far end.

His hand not clutching his side pointed a lone finger, a blisteringly hot flame manifesting a scythe-like blade to hang dangerously near the other’s throat.

The two remained still for that moment, the breath in their chest nigh half heaving to catch itself, Hornet’s eyes narrowed at the bug with his foot ground to her carapace’s chest.

"Do it..."

Grimm frowned, drawing a breath, and growling low, banishing the blade with a wave of the conjuring hand. "No...”

Hornet, in turn, frowned, glaring, frustration mounting behind her brow, "Why mercy now, have you lost your rancor? Strike me down, I have lost the battle, that was our agreement, do it!" She moved to sit up, feeling him stuff her back to the earth with a forceful shove of his leg.

"I refuse--" His voice ground through grit teeth hissed and as though he were restraining himself by the faintest thread.

"Why"

He didn’t answer, staring her down, large red rounds drawing to thin red slits and pulling his heel from her chest to turn and step from her, a disgusted huff in his throat. Hornet’s form pressed from the ground, scuffling from the ground and marching after him, ignoring the burning hot wounds demanding her to take her stride with a dearer gentle step.

"I. _Refuse_. There is nothing beyond--" He had moved to turn his head, that facade of the showman beginning to grind its way into place but for a moment before she could feel herself reach behind it and tear it down by its very threads before he could mount it back in place.

"Liar--! Cretinous liar, you take the coward's path on a stranger, but rend into those that trust you just-- Coward!" Her shell burned at the very lies he dared spit, had he really so the gaul to come so near to slaying her and yet leave her without the truth to his mercy?

He spun round, fire flickering at the very corners of his mouth, eyes burning hot and tone ringing unearthly, snarling and ashen, ringing in her shell in a way she had not heard in millennia. _"Hold your tongue!_ I am beyond your simple mockery and brazen accusations, _girl_!"

And yet his brazen attempt to petrify her did little to shake her, other than draw her eyes to narrow, bringing her face nearer his, a snarl to her own tone. " _Speak_ then of why you refuse to slay me when I _know_ you hold no mercy in your _being_ \--"

And he held this distance, seeming to stare her down, as though unbothered by her own insolence, and hissed a fiery breath, turning round, "I may be devoid of _mercy_ , but I will never go back on a vow made to a companion that knew me at my very weakest...” And he drew a breath in, fists coiling tight, singeing with heat before he gave a lone command. “Leave... _N O W_... before I change my mind."

She remained stock still, glaring the man down, “Will you remain cruel in punishment to those under your wing...”

He did not respond.

“The agreement was, should you win, you would kill me, you didn’t… but I did not win… will you honor the agreement as I am still alive...”

And his shoulders lost the faintest facet of their tension, slackening as he rolled his head about his shoulders as though to ease the frustration tensing his shoulders.

“I will humor you… for now...”

“Then I will return on the regular to ensure that you uphold our agreement… Grimm...”

Collecting her pin and needle from the center of the room, she turned back to the man, whom had yet to face her, “What say you then...”

He drew a sigh, as though the very thought of a second visit from her seemed to agitate him to no end.

~~Excellent.~~

“I look forward to our next encounter… Hornet...”


	5. Reminisce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Memories of times long since past come when you least expect...  
> But often times when you are most in need

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've a nickname I like to think that Grimm sort of acquired for the Pale King because I felt weird just calling him PK or Wyrm over and over, everyone else had all these variants-- so I settled on Jericho because of my concept of just what the radiance and the Pale King in fact are.
> 
> For those who don't know, Jericho is Arabic and pronounced 'Ariha', it is also known as the 'lost city of the moon' by Israeli/Jewish culture, which in this world is 'ancient' history stories. 
> 
> It's something more of a friend thing between the two-- and that's about it-- but I did want to mention it, also, fuck it-- 2 chapters in a day

“Sire… Lady Herrah’s clutch has but one surviving child-- its stability appears to be wavering within the shell”

The stout form of the court advisor stood before him, no different than many of the retainers that roamed these palace walls, with arms laden with the weight of many scrolls and messages to be shared from the many lords and ladies demanding a presence to be shared with the Wyrm in all his glory for their trivialities seemed to shift a moment, as though uncertain of himself and glancing between the towering guards on either side of the room.

Frankly, they were just for show, he knew as much but the rest liked to believe him some frail entity.

Hands remained clasped on the ivory surface of the table beneath the silvery sky, contemplating a moment, he had known Lady Herrah to be that of infertile, gifting her with a spark of Soul to ignite that very energy that should be enough to bring about if only one hatchling.

Her clutch had been fruitful, ten gleaming and silvery eggs… all of which began to fall away to crumbling dust in the coming weeks to leave the warrior of legend to howl with grief over the loss of the children that could have been.

Soul had not been enough…

It would not be enough…

His hands unfolded and clattering roll of claws over the stone tile rolled from place tucked neatly beneath the pedestal supported desk of carved and gleaming alabaster, “I will ready the guard at once to embark for the Deepnest, sire” And for a moment scuttling steps nearly overtook the eager to please bug, he raised a single hand to halt the other--

“There is no need for such arrangements, advisor… events are progressing far too quickly for such a waste in resources to be made-- I will be going alone” A voice smooth and calm in demeanor, gentile with the cool ring of an accent undefinable, he knew of its origin, as did those of his own kind, but so few outside of this palace had ever heard it since the return of the faintest tinge of lingering dreams that sang of the cool fringes of a golden light.

It was easily banished before the evening was gone--

But it marked the beginning to the end to his perfect kingdom.

He spied the baffled look from the advisor, sputtering and looking to the two equally startled knights stationed within the room, “Your majesty, surely you jest, such grounds are riddled with danger--”

To which he could do little more than chortle a low hum, a wave of his hand as claws clattered over the ground, “I must give thanks for such concern, advisor-- do take note to call my attention to such chivalry on my return--” He made no motion for the door, as both knights walked to block it, a subtle smile crossing his face.

“My King, we cannot allow such frivolous decisions to be made with the life of the father to our kingdom put at risk--”

A hand lifted, gentile in demeanor to curl before his mouth and cover the bemused smile, “Such a warming sight to know my presence is so well-received-- now, I must be off--” The expressions of the collected retainers, knights, and advisor bloomed through and into confusion.

He could go nowhere, what ever was he talking abou--

And in a thundering whirlwind of blinding white light that flooded the room, the armored bugs shielding their helm bearing eyes and retainers themselves ducking away as though facing some grand terror-- and in the next moment, it dimmed.

Knights peeked round first, the Advisor next, crying out in unison.

“What!? Where did he go! Search the palace, he must be near!”

  
  


Beyond the furthest reaches, shrouded in swirling threads of glimmering Soul and the encompassing Void that blossomed to manifest the regal form of the King himself from the very ether knit from the very threads of stark white and pitch. The weightless fibers weave in swirling and dancing blooms of curling light and unfathomable dark that condensed beneath that brilliant and snowy white surface.

Sweeping many-legged form materialized in the pitch of the Deepnest, whirling fabric quick to sweep over him with a brush of his right hand as wings unfurled once more, a curl of his left and his mantle of gleaming and pale silken cloth draped down his back.

His coy and yet barely-there glint of a smile had yet to leave his face, spying the many confused, amazed Weavers surrounding over the grounds, his hands clasped and with a subtle chortle low enough he doubted many of the surrounding denizens had heard, those that had been near him in his whirling moment of manifestation had scuttled away to stare in what he could only deem as wide-eyed awe-- he moved to approach the stone path toward the Beast’s tremendous abode.

Heavens, you would believe they would recall him as a Higher Being bound to corporeal form--

He was still of mortal body--

  
  


The rolling and almost porcelain-like clatter of his claws over the etched stone as he climbed ever higher, a hushed voice calling to him from above, “The child’s energy is looking far from stable, Jericho, my friend--” A crooked barely-there grin crossed its path over his face.

“I do query as to how you must have latched onto the story of that lost city-- you do realize in that lost kingdom, it was bound to our grounds, yes?”

“Ah, but you deigned it the City of the Moon, and therein, your domain-- fitting is it not?”

The grin on the other’s face as he curled in the air akin to a weightless apparition, carried on clouds of red and wings fluttering lazily as he neared the pathway so far above the watery pit waiting for any unfortunate enough to stumble far enough to the side.

But the King’s own face, despite the long-standing name shared between their friendship and by no other bringing the lilt of a grin to his face, furrowed to a cool gaze, and brow furrowing-- there was something wrong… this icy wash that poured forward from the building, it did not feel right.

The entity in red at his side let eyes fall to thin red slits, focusing a moment, seriousness taking facet over his expression as well in turn. “They are fading… the Beast is entering a state of panic-- go; _now_ ”

His body gleamed as the other’s attention flitted to him, washing over a blinding white and shot forward with incomprehensible speed, the doors throwing themselves open from the sheer force of his approach, a sweeping wave of his arm and the gleaming signatures of the denizens within this building’s confines bloomed to life through every wall and floor.

Where was she, where _was_ she-- _ah_!

Bounding forward, the white rippled forward into blackness beyond mortal vision, and like the shadows between the boards, he slipped through, clawing near the nigh grief-stricken form of Herrah’s form shaking with hands outstretched to the weak gleam of the soul within the shell before her.

In a whirling burst of snowy white and black, he emerged and congealed his form with a display of staggering power, expression firm, form nigh fiery in glow for but a moment and approaching with a quickness even as the guards surrounding staggered to their feet as though he were some threat they needed to eliminate.

He raised a hand with no glance to them, attention focused on his court attendant.

“Herrah… what has happened”

Her voice shook, a feat he had never seen in the entirety of the time he had known this staggeringly powerful warrior, “Their signature, it had been stable for the last three cycles, so the midwife had said-- but today, I… the egg is losing its glow, Sire”

His eyes narrowed, shifting gaze in thought, then he had underestimated just how infertile the poor woman’s genetic code in fact proved to be, no he could not break her heart like this-- he could not allow her to grieve in such a manner, he _would_ not break this contract between them.

Pitch eyes shifted to the lone egg nestled within blankets and warming charms nestled within just before Herrah’s chest from her place crumbled to her knees on the floor. And he moved forward, thinking deeply as he walked--

A snarl, however, left the Beast--

‘Brooding nature?’ His attention glanced up, but now, her eyes had flitted up to something far behind him, and he turned, spying the red-robed figure standing in the doorframe he had last manifested beneath, moreso seeming unimpressed by the display over anything else.

“ _Why is he here--”_ It was a snarl on the brink of a lunge, barely restrained fury behind gnashing mandibles threatening this want to rend the other’s throat wide open.

His own head turned round, “Because I allow him to be here--”

Her head snapped round to glare down at him, _“Why, that putrid moth is brother to that wretched--”_

His own form flickered darker, and her expression lost its fury to dawn with realization to who she had just spat her venom to, _“A r e y o u q u e s t i o n i n g m e . . .”_ The tone was rolling, unearthly, icy and multitonal, the guards themselves taking steps back with mortal fear striking them deep in their beings.

Herrah herself remained stock still, she had a will of iron, and though she may have fear in her body, she would refuse to allow it overtake her-- even to her final moments… and he presumed it would be what would take her in the end were the contract not needed. “N… No, my King”

“He… is here, because I will it to be so, he is the one that had been capable to recognize your fear before I could… he seeks to assist… and I will _n o t_ see him be so slandered, _do we have an agreement, my lady?”_ His tone shifted from that nigh horrifying godly tone to that of regal in such quick intervals, the very thought of it was enough to give a single bug whiplash.

The guards alone shook with the concept of facing whatever really hid under the skin of the King’s shell.

Herrah gave a single soft nod of her head, a tremor over her form, but resolute in refusing to move, proud enough to face her fear whether it may bring her ruin or not. But the beckoning call from the twin horned bug called back the Wyrm’s attention, “We have not the time for a scolding, their energy fades further as we speak, act now, Wyrm, or all will be for naught”

A hiss left him, brows furrowing, Soul had not been enough, too brilliant, too high of a support, he had thought Herrah’s bloodline would have been grounded enough to simply need to be needing a lift a bit higher toward stability-- but he had carried it far too high, it gleamed far too bright and threaten to scorch in that blazing light.

His hands outstretched to the faintly gleaming egg, one gleaming white, and the other whirling with the gravity defying mass of perfect pitch, his approach was slow, feeling the energy within threaten to wane from the power nearing it, but feeling its familiarity-- feeling _his_ energy and sparking gently toward him.

Yes, that’s it, reach out, come on-- latch onto the signatures.

It was like a little hand pressing palm sides to the inside of his own, as palms at last met with the pale grey shell it was almost instant, the glow brightening and perfect dark energy whirling into its design in splendid and shimmering plumes-- ever moving and divine by their very nature.

But he would not stop here, “I cannot simply give them a spark… it may fade… as it did last time...”

The figure in red stepped nearer, “Jericho-- that will change their very being--”

Herrah’s eyes flitted to him, then to the eternal entity in mortal form before her, “What does he mean, change their being-- what does this mean, my King”

He took a deep breath, focusing himself as the energy rippled with a swirl of shimmering color not quite given name, but quick to sink into its shell, that of which took on a subtle sheen of opalescence. “They will be akin to us, stand as we do, among our species...”

Herrah’s form stilled in thought… then it struck, blinking, “Do you mean...”, her attention flitted between the two of the lone bugs that stood apart from the guards and towering Weaver in the room.

“Higher Beings...”

The Pale King nodded, watching his magic pulse a second and then third time before his breath rushed from him and his form staggered back with a breathless groan of exhaustion-- a shocked breath flitted from Herrah, reaching out to catch him, as did the guards, but slim arms looped beneath his before any could so much as attempt.

“You over exerted yourself...” The man’s tone was half scolding, a rare frown on his face, staring down at him with the black lined red hues narrowed-- he shook his head, furrowing his own brow with a huff of breath.

His voice lacked its smooth hum, instead growled with an unnatural smoky quality, near hoarse, “Had I been permitted to come here on my own without the accompaniment of an entire squadron, I would not have needed to warp and waste the energy--” He fought to press from the cloaked other’s hold, staggering a bit as he did-- The knights stepped nearer, concern-- no, _fear_ for their King in their eyes.

“Leave.” The guards stood still, stock still at the order, never before in the presence of the King himself, “ _Now!_ ” And their scurrying forms stumbled and scurried to the door, clonking their armor into one another, pushing at the first, stuffing at the next and fighting to get out for fear of what repercussions could be to come should be to come.

His breath came out in a low breath, watching the Higher Being that had caught him shut the door with a plume of red smoke. Dark eyes rolled back open, slower now, moving to stand, chest icy with strain-- it was not only the warp that had brought strain on him and he knew it…

This was something more.

Hands neatly folded, reaching into the robes draped about his shoulders to fetch a soft cloth as his chest seemed to tighten, turning away, his opposite hand lifting to alert them of his request to step aside-- he only hoped that they would not tread nearer, this was but a simple cough… or… he thought it was--- that ice in his chest burned hotter, robbing him of his breath, hand clutching the cloth taut to his face.

He could hear the shocked cry from Herrah, and the Higher Being in red stepping closer to catch him beneath the arms before he could collapse back to the floor. “Wyrm… what is happening to you”

His breath drew in ragged and slow tearing pulls, evening out, hand still keeping the stained handkerchief in place.

“Answer me...”

“It’s finally the beginnings of the waning moon-- this body is coming to the age of which it must know an eternal rest” And he could feel his body tense through his grip alone, pulling back the fabric, the spilled black ichor that painted it was proof enough.

“I...I’m dying...”

The very words, shook his core… but he shook his head, pulling in his tail to perch himself on its gleaming shell. A Slow breath, his eyes shut, folding the fabric, and wiping the remaining black staining his mandible, he exhaled just as slow, “I have perhaps to the child’s coronation, perhaps but 2 decades-- I cannot say.”

Herrah herself seemed distraught, pressing claw to her face, his own eyes rolled open, palm pressing to his prow, looking to her without turning his head-- “Herrah… you will tell no one of this, do you understand, should anyone find out, there will be an uprising… something we cannot risk”

She gave a slow nod, and then a faster one, “Understood, my King”

“Grimm...”

His head perked, gaze already trained on him, “Should anything come to rise, I request you keep this child alive through it all, they are the fate of Hallownest, as the Radiance is the Sun, I am the Moon, they will be the Morning Star to guide the way to a better world-- is this something you can do for me, my friend… please.”

And with a firm look of devout dedication glinting in those vivid hues, he seemed to almost gleam with this indomitable will that may have even rivaled Herrah’s in that moment, gaze shifting to the egg nestled in the fine raiments and blankets littered with baubles, gleaming swirling white and black in dancing harmony.

“I swear it with my very being, old friend”


	6. A New Addition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As new faces come to join, old masks come undone--  
> Those thought to have vanished are remembered, and shadows of men revealed.
> 
> But is it fuel to the flame, or a spark to something new?

Alright… okay, alright, Hornet… think rationally--

There must be a clear, and completely understandable reason as to why Knight is being followed by…

Her fingers parted from over her eyes, elbows digging into the hard chitin of her knees, having spied her sibling climbing from the far reaches of the King’s Pass with an unidentifiable creature in tow… at least until she had seen it come nearer. She’d needed to take a seat to collect her thoughts, and decide if this was reality or some obscure dream that had overtaken her many millennia long security of the drifting light spotted darkness and its colorful clouds that rolled beyond endlessly.

This had to be a dream…

Seated on the cool iron of the bench at the heart of the humble town, scrubbing the brow of her shell with her fingertips as though perhaps it were a migraine presenting this image.

_Please be a dream--_

A dream would explain why her sibling, currently bounding about with a hatchling fresh from their shell fluttering after them at the lead, a charm nipped in their maw, enjoying this game of chase, as did Knight-- (though the frantic leaping for the charm seemed less playful at the thought of the young bug perhaps biting through the pin).

A young bug… with the exact same markings as Grimm…

A sputtering sigh left her, scrubbing her face a moment in exasperation before hands dropped to hang mid-air, this was anything but a dream… and that hard-headed bug had dug his claws into her family by seeking Knight’s assistance… when she had... scorned their affections for the dying town.

~~You drove them toward this.~~

Pressing from her place seated, it was a quickly spun length of silk and the fiber shot forward to nab the newly hatched bug from the air, to which they cried out with a familiar and disconcertingly similar sort of ashen cry, though shrill by comparison to what she could only mark as the bug’s source.

~~You let him sink his claws into the first thing you could call your own--.~~

A yank and the frantically flapping bug drops the charm in shock only to be pulled through the distance between them in a sharp tear through the cool surface air-- flying into Hornet’s grasp only to become a squirming and fitful mess of angry cries.

~~You’ve salted the soil to your own undeserved happiness.~~

The hatchling thrashed in her grasp gave faint puffs of red flames, eyes pinched shut and gnashing their teeth toward her arm. Hornet’s opposite hand flitted out, a cry from her as she struggled to keep the child from sinking their mandibles into her chitin, “Knight--! Why do you have a child of that tyrant in your company--”

~~Even now, you drive away their fellowship with your damnable brutishness.~~

Little knight seemed to be rushing toward Hornet’s side, having stuffed the charm back into the small satchel of their many like others after assessing the nipped bite marks into the crystalline surface. With a stumbling trip, clumsy and sprinting nearer, aiming to bound to try and calm the screeching youngling in their sibling’s grasp, instead spilling over the ground in a tumbling roll, helm over feet to land face down with a plume of the compacted dirt’s dusty layer.

~~You bring only ruin, Hornet… what use do you have.~~

Scuffling from the ground, Knight was quick to recover and run to their sister’s side and jump, arms waving to catch the child’s attention, much to their dismay, it only seemed to agitate them further. Gnashing their jaws, and moving to instead bite toward Hornet’s helm, she gave a stumbling cry, moving to hold the child at an arm’s length, the unrestrained wings lashing down against her wrists as they effectively threw a rightfully furious tantrum in her hands.

~~Stubborn foolhardy brute.~~

The void born knight’s arms swung through the air, bouncing and flailing, as Hornet struggled to keep the lashing hatchling away from her helm, the last thing she needed was a chunk of her shell cleaved away and bared void exposed to the air to expose just what she was to the open world around her.

~~As you rightfully deserve…~~

The knight’s flailing and jumping seemed to fail in calling her attention, glancing about, finding no means to nab focus from the angry child in her hands and wound in silk. Well-- wait, they had one way.

Hope she didn’t get too mad, drawing their nail and swinging, the knight’s nail sliced through the air, narrowly missing her newly repaired cloak and slashing through the black trousers beneath to clip into her chitin.

A cry left the huntress, hands losing grasp on the thrashing child for them to, themselves, give a cry as they fell through the air.

Dashing forward as Hornet staggered back to clutch at her unexpected wound, the little shadow’s arms extended and caught their bound form, tucking them close to their form and skidding over the ground with their form held to their carapace.

Hornet’s stance was unsteady, staggered, hand clasped to her leg leaking the black ichor; pain, anger, and confusion evident on her face. “Knight! Explain yourself! For what reason have you attacked me, and why do you carry his _spawn_ with you as your companion--?” The fire in her words seemed to make them lift their head, expecting that anger, for the attack, but not their new company.

Spawn?

Pressure welled in their helm, knotted behind the center of their brow, hot and grinding to the inner surface as though it may burst through if it drew much stronger. Their own anger hot in their chest, nail drawn back out and a stamp of their pedipalps, slashing through the dirt in two crossing sweeps.

The anger evident in the knight’s own stance and lashing of their weapon brought confusion to Hornet’s own expression, body language shifting to something hugging bewilderment as the black lifeblood trickled between her fingers. “You are angry I caught them-- but… you were seeking to retrieve your charm back from them, were you not?”

Their shoulders slumped in exasperation, claspers extending as they pointed their arm toward the wriggling child in the sticky silk, to the small bag of charms and then about to the town around.

 _Oh_.

The ice of embarrassment flooded her chest, “You were… playing...”

But it… didn’t add up, Hornet’s gaze lowered, brow furrowing as her not bloodied hand lifted to clutch the side of her helm. From the corner of her vision, she could see the knight turn to attempt to cut at the wound silk to free the child from its binds.

~~You’re ruining everything again…~~

“But why is **his** _spawn_ in your company--”

And they spin round, dashing forward with a slash of their nail at the air, that anger broiling hot in their stance. It wasn’t close enough to make contact, but instinct drew her to give a bound backward and keep clutching hand to the wound on her outer thigh.

They seemed to seethe at the word…

Spawn…

A memory seemed to claw at the far reaches of her mind.

_A hand met with the top of her head, peering up, she stared at the familiar crowned helm of her father, and turned concerned gaze back toward the many rows of the vessels standing in idle wait or their next direction to test their perfection to the King’s standards._

“ _Fret not, my child-- they bear no emotion, they are but spawn of the abyss, those that are not fit will be content to return to their home”_

_But if they would content to return home… did that not contradict what be believed._

_Did they not truly have emotion…_

_Were they_ _truly_ _but simply…_

“Spawn… you… do not like that word”

Rising from their place hunkered and ready to almost lunge-- a stance Hornet had witnessed once before in their first meeting and met the nettle of their blade after seeing, their hand wound tight about their nail’s handle. With a firm shake of their head, they turned around and stepped back to the now hissing and thrashing child as the knight slashed carefully through the wound silk, peeling back the layers for Grimm’s sp… _child_ … to wriggle loose and flap their wings to tuck themselves behind the little knight’s form.

There was a hiss from them, eyes drawn to thin slits and a shake wracking their form, the knight turning to gingerly put a hand on their shell to try and comfort them, and Hornet’s brow furrowed.

~~You never deserved their company in the first place--~~

“This does not answer my question, Knight-- why are they with you.”

~~It was only a matter of time, Hornet…~~

Their head never turned gaze from her, pausing in thought, lowering to stare at the ground and glancing back to the tent far beyond the town’s border, and back to Hornet, pointing to it with their arm extended. “He… gave you… his child?” Her voice hugged on the edge of bewilderment, eyes narrowed and staring beyond toward the red glow.

“But… why… when did this happen--”

There hadn’t been enough time for them to be separate from her to run in and find the time for the monster of a bug to drop his child onto the shoulders of another child’s for overseeing. Except…

The knight’s hand lifted as they sheathed their weapon on their back, and drew it down the face of their helm below their socket like falling tears… they had been given the child… in their first encounter, the one that had so deeply shaken them to their core.

“But… how could he have given you his child if he did not have them in your presence on your departure from his side...” It didn’t make sense… unless--

Their arm extended, lifting their cloak to show a small charm on its front about their neck, small, the eyes shut but the markings familiar.

“He… bonded his… child to a charm...”

But… for what purpose could he have done this-- why shackle your child to such a prison with the intent to have a stranger shoulder the weight of their care and safety, not knowing if that stranger would even allow that child freedom.

For what reason would Grimm close his child in such a potentially eternal… prison…

_The sight of t_ _he_ _grand_ _and towering_ _form standing before_ _the sleek mirror as the blacksmith and tailor, two of the greatest men in the kingdom, worked side by side to craft the most ethereal and everlasting_ _suit of armor to fit to the chosen vessel to contain the Radiance._

_This was not the final fitting, this was not the final adjustments… this was the final assembly of this armor before they would be…_

_Would be…_

_Their head turned, looking to her as she stepped nearer to the far taller of their father’s children. He swore… that by his very being, he knew this would work, that the vessel he had crafted and brought to fruition was nothing if not perfect--_

_Truly… hollow._

_But_ _lifting her head, craning her neck to stare high and_ _glimpsing into those eyes, and seeing the fear that tinged in t_ _heir pitch hues_ _…_

_How could one man be so blind--_

“ _My Knight… it is time...”_

Hornet’s eyes snapped back to clarity and locked back on the child tucked behind her sibling, “Knight… ensure their safety through whatever Grimm has tasked you with regarding them. Do not, under any circumstance return them to their prison of that charm if it avoidable--” Her tone was firm, collected, devoid of the distraught confusion and anger that had painted it through but moments before.

The petite form of the little shadow shifted, lifting their head and looking back to Grimm’s child, who of like looked up to the knight with like confusion, their wariness evident in their expression but dulled in its edge by something exponential.

Hand clutched to her wound, and taking to burning with a stark white energy, Soul coursed through her palm and saturated into the split carapace, knitting the sliced pitch tissue beneath back together and sealing the shell back over with an almost gleam to the healed spot beneath the torn trousers.

Skies, was she thankful she had learned to repair clothing at a young age.

She seemed to be needing it far more often than she had before--

“I will have to find the geo to supply them with a blanket and sleeping cot--” Her helm lifted, shifting to stare at the ever grey skies, still bright out-- she could manage enough time to head underground and… as much as she dreaded it, strike down a few of the more aggressive husks in order to supply this growingly crowded hut with the right means to keep them at the very least _safe_.

Again the two glanced to one another, confusion more evident on the child’s face, but distrust shifting to curiosity with each passing moment, it was something clear in her expression, something haunting her that seemed strong enough to claw at her very presence.

Was it truly so terrible to be bound to a charm, the knight could only wonder, looking to the child at their side before stepping forward to call for Hornet’s attention with a gentle step forward and tug to her cloak’s hem.

Her attention snapped round, blinking down to the figure at her side, taking a moment to process that it was her sibling _(two points to their horns, Hornet… not three-- two)_.

The little knight gives a shake to their head, lifting their opposite hand to pat at her leg with that gentle decision made for her. But it seemed to only bring the huntress’ head to tilt in confusion-- “No…? You do… not wish me to go underground…?” And there was a missed beat filled only by the cool silence in turn, before the other gave a subtle nod of their head.

“But you will need a place for the child to rest...”

Again the knight gave a shake to their head, and released her cloak to point to themselves, their claspers gently clicking to their chitin through the fabric of their own cloak, and then lifting their opposite to point to the slow approaching child whom had tilted their own head in curiosity, and their hands returned, pressing their pedipalps to one another.

Their stare locked on their clasped hands, before shifting up to look at Hornet, hoping the message had gotten through, and she furrowed her brow in thought, “You do not wish me to purchase another cot… as you wish to share one?”

And the shadow’s shoulders perked with their form, lifting with pride, a nod bouncing their head twice. Yes, yes, that’s exactly it--!

Well… the cot was certainly large enough, meant for a fully grown bug twice Hornet’s height, certainly, the two would fit well enough together without it being crowded… at least until they grew to be too terribly large.

She scrubbed at her helm, rubbing her unbloodied hand over the almost rough surface, opposite hand barely restrained in lifting to grasp for the pin clasping the cloak shut on her left shoulder, if only to keep from bloodying its surface and saving it from further wear and tear than it had already faced.

“I will at the very least seek out Sly and purchase a blanket so that they may have one of their own...” And she paused, thinking, she had spent all this time so focused on the child and yet, “Knight...” Their head lifted, from its place looking to Grimm’s child ow nearer to their side, looking up to Hornet curiously with their head tilted.

“Do you know of the child’s name--”

And their head shifted, dropping gae a bit, before lifting to her and pointing to the far tent and gesturing then as though some being were small… very small. The cirque… the troupe… the tent… no, this was _his_ child, Grimm… Grimm _what_ though. Her mind flitted to the gesture and her fingers drummed on her helm a moment; small-- very small, but what could be so far smaller than a ch… and it dawned on her.

A child…

Grimm… child…

“Grimmchild?” And their head lifted faintly, as though it were familiar to them.

The fury that welled in her gut was anything but rational, but it was forcibly quenched, fist clenching on her shell, hard enough to hear the very shell of her digits creak with strain. Of all the things he could have chosen-- he chose to call his child what literally but His _child--_ it was no better than naming your child a vessel or a Hollow Knight.

And something struck…

A figure that had stood at her side in her youth, swathed in familiar reds, with twin pointed horns and shocking red eyes that seemed to burn with unnatural fire.

“ _What’s your name?” her infantile voice asked the towering bug sitting neatly on the ground at her side, wound in sweeping wings of mesmerizing reds, that seemed to shift with the bug’s very moods, he hummed with a low chortle, lifting a hand and gently placing its warm palm atop her head._

“ _Many call me the Nightmare King, princess--”_

That voice--

_She could feel her face try to scrunch up beneath her helm, a frown, “But you’re not a nightmare, nightmares are scary, you’re not scary” Her hands lifted, pushing at his hand and hefting it high above her head like some tremendous prize. He quirked a crooked grin, red shelled head tilting as he leaned forward to cup the other’s chin with but a fingertip._

“ _Ah, but I do not seek to terrify you, my lady-- I believe the King would be quite furious with me if I did”_

_And she tilted her head with a childish giggle, grabbing now at his other hand only to be lifted as though she weighed nothing. “But why?”_

“ _Because I made a vow to him for your protection, I do believe frightening you as my nature requires would be a manner of breaking our agreement, my lady--” And he only seemed to find mirth in the way she kicked her legs in the air, chuckling fondly at her idle giggles and moving to settle the young heiress back on the ground._

A vow made to a companion…

Her head ached from the thundering memories of a red-cloaked figure, a man all too familiar at her side, come rushing back in torrents, through and through to the very day of her would have been coronation.

Red, _red_ , no-- _scarlet_ he had always been in _s_ _carlet_ that is why she had not recognized him.

The center of her brow throbbed with frustration, both at the fact of the memories pouring through into her mind after all this time, and that this ma had gotten away with being so unrecognized by but a simple color change and tattering of his wings.

But she did little to show it on the surface, shaking her head almost solemnly, as though disappointed. “This will not do, I will have to think on the matter, but I will find a name for you before the night falls, little one…” Her breath rushed from her in a long press, head aching, but nary enough to haze her senses, not enough to throw the thoughts that had just crashed into her mind aside.

Nor was it enough to stop this surging drive to march toward Grimm’s tent once more.

“Knight… I will return soon, I must visit the Troupe Master to consult him on his naming choices...”

And with direct stride, one of which the shadow knight themselves had not quite seen so full of fire and ice in the same breath-- she set forth toward the gleaming structure.

  
  


She made no attempt to speak to the musician, that of whom did slow his melody as though to step forward, but seemed almost accustomed to the fire in the heiress’ eyes by this point and remained at his position, perhaps even swaying to his melody and daring to glide a step further having seen just what she and the Master were capable of in the grand dance they had performed to test their mettle against one another.

“So you return, Daughter of Hallownest, to what do I owe this--” His voice boomed through the room, sweet with that showman’s false sense of courtesy, charismatic in that flowing and ashen tone of his, only for Hornet’s own to cut through it with her own booming command.

“ _Silence--”_

She made no move to draw her weapon, but stood at the center of the ring and loomed before the shadows akin to a show for the masses herself with the confidence that held itself in her shoulders.

There was a chortle, no form dropping from the rafters, but a whirl of flames and a plume of stark crimson and the man’s form stalked toward her with his head held high, as though he had no semblance of ire in his chest for the duel taken place but the other day. “Such a command from one outside of her domain--”

“I said...” And it was a building moment, whirling black curling about her feet, fists clenching as that whirling dark condensed and seemed to brighten in swathes of violets and peeking sparks of white before her voice howled with an unearthly cry, sending the thin layer of dust from over the compacted earth floor to plume in the scorchingly bright black light that sculpts the howling entities that claw her scream to the open air.

_"S I L E N C E--”_

And the room itself seemed to threaten to buckle, if only for a moment, before again the quiet reigned back over the room in a nigh suffocating blanket with even Brumm’s melody having fallen to silence as per the other’s command, or perhaps it was shock that such a howl could come from such a humble form--

One that could pass as but a simple bug in the right light… and yet she held such terrible power.

Grimm’s voice did not split the quiet in the moment next missed, no attempt made to strike at her authority in this moment, but the facade of his benign status as a welcoming host had cracked to bleed through the agitation at such insurgence from one he could almost call trespasser within his grounds.

Another missed beat of silence ticked by…

“Nightmare King...”

And it was as though some boastful story of Grimm’s past had been mentioned, the swell of his form and how his head lifted spoke mountains on his pride, “So you have remembered then, Lady Hornet--”

She answered his question with a barked chuff of cold laughter, “I am ashamed it had taken me as long as it has… for all you had needed was to hide your face behind a mask of pitch and tatter your wings for me to not see the truth in your identity… if anything, this marks a point of mockery at my memory--”

Her dark eyes remained locked on him, hands remaining hanging at her sides, gaze narrowed, but a deep-set fury built in her chest that burned in her stance.

“What, perchance, have I to grant this encounter then… _Princess_ ” And he gave a nigh mocking curl of his arm before his form, bowing himself forward as though before some humble court-- Hornet’s eyes drew thinner in her dangerous glare at the other.

“You are a fraud of a king… I am here to stamp back where your bloated ego has swelled beyond what you call yourself but have stolen from the memory of another man.” Her tone hung cold in the air, enough so that Brumm to the far reaches of the hall could feel his chest ache with a pit of anxiety at what may come of her if she did not piece her words carefully.

Grimm remained in his mocking bow, but drew tall to his full height, once rounded fiery hues drawing thin to slits, no words to counter her claim but a nigh bloodthirsty ire looming in his presence.

“Do you not think I would not recall my father’s rule…”

She stepped nearer to the man, turning her stride to round about him-- “He struck down any sign of insurgence within his court, but he did so with a just response to just insurgence-- he spoke with grace, and treated his subjects as such… but he was foolish in believing his greatest of problems could be solved in sealing a god within the body of a mortal--”

Her pace slowed, stopping at the man’s side, far beyond his striking range, but knowing a lash of his hand and he could send flames hurdling her way--

Wicked crimson red slit pupils turned attention to her without turn of his head, though the growl audible in his chest was anything but ignored by her.

“You had not the decency to name your child… as did he… he believed if the entity were truly hollow-- that it could contain even the greatest of gods… and he was a fool, and you know it to be true, Grimm.”

His tone rolled with an unnatural growl, “You should not speak such of a man no longer of this world, _heiress_ ”

“And you should not stand in the shadow of a man long since dead… _Nightmare King...”_

That suffocating silence seemed to blanket back over the room, weighty and in a sense icy beyond mortal measure, perhaps even dangerous in that very sense-- in the way the cool water of the sea could be.

At last, he turned his head round, with a sickening sort of grace, the way a serpent may have reeled its body round to lock stares on its prey, “You are an insolent _child_ that should know when it is your time to delve into matters of which your presence is required, _girl_ ”

And Hornet’s brow furrowed, a snarl knitting its path into place on her face, one of which Grimm could swear he had seen but once before-- but not on her.

And it is a flash through his mind, a whirling form of stark and blinding white in the expanses of rolling black, dotted with the many stars of the yonder cosmos and their looming clouds of the worlds between. _“Be gone beast-- I know thee to be a spy for thyne sister’s will, I shall not be so easily fooled--”_

_That same snarling glare--_

And he snapped from his memories, but far too late, eyes resettling back on the huntress, far closer, with her hand stretching forward and knotting about the fringe of his wings about his neck and yanking him down with opposite hand drawn back.

Thin drawn scarlet iris drew faintly wider with realization before the righteous sting of a hand to the side of his face sent him stumbling backward if only a step.

“You _wasted_ the time and energy I spent ready to send you to the floor in our duel, as you were not standing in the fire of your self-righteous tyranny for your own cruelty nor of your own amusement-- but to clutch to a dead man’s memory” And she shook her head.

“Grimmchild… _Hollow Knight_ … you are not worthy of my blade's edge, you stand in another man's shadow and call it your own” There was a hiss to her words, and something about it that rang through Grimm’s cranium in a whirling chime.

Her form turned, facing the exit to the cirque’s main structure, a turn of her head to peer back at him from over her shoulder and a last utterance was spoken. “When you are able to step into the light, then perhaps I will approach you with needle drawn again… until then, I will not be approaching you, nor this tent again.”

And with that, her stride, full of that same fire as she had strode into the tent, carried her toward the exit, and out of his sight.

It was… strange…

No bug had ever dared… nor dreamed of striking him so simply… as though he were but another bug.

His hand lifted to touch to the still stinging surface of his face, even daring to wince at the subtle burn of such an unfamiliar strike. Peculiar… strange in every sense and yet… she was right and he knew it.

Something about it… to be so clearly seen through…

And by but a budding god…

A dull thrum hummed low in his chest-- ah, this was nothing, he was certain of it.

Red hues rounded back through into their familiar full and fiery hues from the thin lines, paying little mind as Brumm’s form dipped a subtle bow toward him and turned to carefully edge toward the tent’s exit as well.

  
  


“Lady Hornet… was it?”

Steps drew to a pause, Hornet’s head still burning hot with frustration but a deep satisfaction settling deep in her chest that felt to ebb at the fringe of this anger. “Yes…? Brumm?” Her tone hugged that of cool, level and nigh polite, even paying the mind to turn her head round to face the taller bug, expression still that of a dead giveaway to the cold fury that had last painted her shell.

The musician stood near, trusted accordion having been carefully tucked away so as to show this encounter to be one of true and benign intent.

“You spoke before, the nameless child’s status lack of a title being that of cruel, have you yet chosen a name for them…?”

Hornet blinked, the ice to her expression melting as the tension to her shoulders as well seemed to seep away, she had forgotten to set time aside for that quite yet, and paused to glance to the sky-- the day was still young, she still had many an hour before the night was yet to fall. Perhaps if she settled herself down she could find one as she had sworn.

“I have not, I spoke to the child on promise of title before night’s fall, but with the state I have set myself in, I believe I may have salted the soil for such fruit of any such labor on this day--” And she sighed long and low, rolling her own head in a subtle round to ease this terrible ache she had seemed to let settle with her frustration deep into her shoulders.

“If you would not mind such a suggestion, I have an offering of title for the child, should you be willing” And his hands neatly folded over one another, seeming to lift himself with a sort of gentle pride, this obscure sort of warmth to his posture she had not seen in the man in the few times she had visited the troupe nor any of its denizens.

And she paused, head dipping a moment, what harm could come of a suggestion.

“Why...”

He seemed to chuckle, as though expecting it, head itself bowing a bit before lifting, “In the many years I have served the Master, never have I seen one so strong-willed as to strike him as though he were but a mortal… your presence has saved us, in the last nights, the shaking terror of his punishment for the failure of even the most minute sort. A name, my lady, is the least I can offer…”

And she could lie and say it did little to shake her mood, that it did little to make her smile, but the softness that bled through into her expression, and the way it warmed her shell and flooded her carapace with a swirling sort of elation she dared not speak of…

“Yes, I suppose I could certainly take such a suggestion as thanks.” She hated to admit it, but she was dreadful with named, she had named her needle ' _needle'_ of all things, it may have been her first weapon, given to her when she was but a girl-- but the fact remained.

“It is sentimental, I suppose, but-- might I suggest Nymwae?”

Her head tilted, “Nymwae? Why this name perchance?”

He spoke on its being that of sentimental and it could only make her wonder, could it have been a friend’s, his mother’s-- something dear?

“I was close with my sister in my youth… and in joining the troupe, I have not seen her in…” He gave a pause, hands gently clenching to one another. Keen eyes caught the subtle tremor that shook his hands, but watched them still with a remarkable readiness, “It has been many a year since I have last seen her, might I ask her name be honored in carrying it on?”

Her gaze did not shift from its place looking to the musician, but seemed to refocus from him to find attention caught in the middle ground between Brumm’s form and the far red glow of the tent.

It spoke to her, those loyal to Grimm were kept at his side, welcomed into the troupe, but it did not say that once they were welcomed whether or not they would be given the release of the mortal coil to carry them on to the afterlife for that eternal dream after.

It had been many a year… since he had last seen her…

“I believe Nymwae will work just fine…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took me a while to find a name for the Grimmchild, but I believe Nymwae works-- for me, it's gender-neutral, kinda like how Sydney or Alex is-- and I thought it would be nice for Brumm to have some ties to the child to give him a reason to be connected to Hornet and the group a little more


	7. To Catch Your Shadow (Part 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did not intend on this chapter being as long as it ended up being, so it is going to be a two part chapter, and roughly bout 10,000 words-- 
> 
> I suppose I got in the writing groove and didn't want to stop, ahah  
> (For that matter I could not for the life of me think of a chapter summary-- pardon that)

No articles remained…

She had scoured this kingdom this lifetime watching it fall to ruin, for some piece of the old world, of the last kingdom that had thrived over this growingly barren world. Some semblance that the Pale King’s rule had been more than something carved from the ether with a god’s pale ore drawn fist.

There had to be some manner of proof that he had not been but the solemn icon of the immortal kingdom that crumbled beneath the test of time as any other mortal civilization could only come to eventually do.

Many items; fractured tablets, crumbling tomes and their torn pages with bleeding and the information she had read a thousand times over-- some books stolen from the palace itself… had vanished… or at least what had been personal of it to him…

Unfortunately, that came to include a very good portion of what had been personal to her.

But there was one place she had never had the heart to approach, the nerve to face, nor the will to scour and climb through the crumbled ruins and hunt for what others had not had the strength nor the cunning to work their way through to rend what remained of the royal palace’s decency and tear her childhood home’s last shreds from her hands.

Face it…

Face your past, Hornet…

There was no reason to hide from something long since dead.

No reason to hide from some _one_ long since dead.

With a long and low shaky breath, eyes pinching tight shut within her helm, and a shake of her head, her the heels of her pedipalps, at last, left the ground, standing before the edge of the old broken well to climb down the sturdy old chain and glide down its links to land within the Crossroad grounds.

Ignore it, Hornet…

Ignore it.

~~How could you let them fall to this state.~~

Attention shifted toward the den of the far standing home of the Grubfather and his slow to grow return of his many children, beyond the festering forms of the soul gutted bodies of those once proud entities she had known as the people of this kingdom… the most well-known way to the City of Tears had been blocked by those gut-wrenching boils.

She could feel the shuddering whispers of something beckoning for her to falter, some piece of her to fall and know failure--

She knew she wouldn’t give in…

Not now…

Nor would she ever…

~~You will fall one day, Hornet… you will fail to keep it out…~~

She would never fail in her fight against _her_.

With a lash of silk and a spindling wind about her wrist, her form shot forward through the cool and rot weighted air.

_Get out of here… just… get away from this place._

It was all she wanted, that weight, that panic that welled in her gut, but an exhale as she soared soothed its building swell in her as it dared to reach for her chest--

~~You did this.~~

Her hard claws on her feet dug into stone as she landed, hand knotting into the familiar groove within the wall, the ledge holding her weight as another spindling shot of silk was spun to carry her further from the well’s light and into this grotesque orange lit ruin that surrounded her.

Plummeting through the air, she swung to the side, vaulting away from the oncoming drone like form of the Gruzzers… or what had once been them. Their bodies made into the volatile corpses of the bugs they had once been, drooling the sick ooze that sloughed from their forms.

~~You could have stopped this.~~

Ducking beneath the platform, her blade swung with a slashing quickness, and again when she could feel it meet resistance, slicing through the fragile armor of chitin on instinct, and turning to spy the form of a Tiktik split, familiar sickly amber oozing through the twin wounds as the form fell still.

Her breath drew tight into her chest, but there was no time to pay the once proud bug the homage they deserved… not without slaughtering every bug in the room and leaving the carnage to be sorted through in the hours after.

She didn’t have the will to face such a task today… nor did she think she had the will to really ever face it. She’d seen carnage, caused much of it, taken pride in battles. But today… was not a day for such gore and horror--

~~You should have stopped this when you could have…~~

Her hand lifted, quick, pressing fingertips to her brow, and then to the bug’s own. Be at rest, dear soul-- she could only hope that her thoughts caught on the other’s newfound stillness for the day would be enough to still the riling thoughts of boiling loathing that burned in her shell.

~~This… is your… fault…~~

She knew it was.

There was a flit of red at the corner of her vision, and for a moment, she thought perhaps in her descent, a Gruzzer had caught the hem of her cloak, or perhaps it was a former cloak that had been destroyed-- but when her eyes flitted high to find it…

No such glint of red was to be found.

She knew she had seen it.

If there was one thing she knew would never fail her, it was her senses, she had failed her kingdom, failed her people, failed her father, but by the skies, the last things to be taken from her were her razored senses and… dare she admit it… the knight that had refused to leave her side in the last cycles to pass.

She shouldn’t claim such a thing… but… it gnawed at her to deny it.

No, she _knew_ what she had seen--

Had _he_ sent one of his troupe members to come and monitor her? To keep true on his promise to her father, it wouldn’t surprise her, but the very concept left her with a spark of frustration mounting in her chest.

But she wasted little time brooding on it with the glow of an infested Gruzzer coming her way, she had not come here to waste time, she had come to descend into the ruins of this crumbling kingdom-- to search the last place she could think for a glimpse of the past.

Something--

 _Anything_ \--

  
  


That flitting gleam of red followed her, like a figment at the very edge of her vision, something barely caught, and only seen in her moments when she dared to draw still, as though waiting for her to fall idle enough to slip up, waiting for a moment to get closer-- but it would never come with her aware of this strange entity’s presence.

The trek through the Fungal Wastes had thankfully been something almost of a breeze, and she supposed, with the image of the shadowed form of the knight darting through and over the many platforms of the grounds and flitting through the pathways carved out by the thorned mounds that blocked their paths.

And the same could be said for the rain-drenched descent through the familiar and achingly nostalgic, memory rich grounds of the City of Tears… with the gates undone… the city unfurled and left to be explored-- it felt almost something like it had back…

Back then…

There was a sharp shake of her head, brow furrowing tight as icy tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, no, no she didn’t need to deal with the stains these damnable tears would leave. Get a grip on yourself, Hornet-- there wasn’t the time for this.

Nymwae would need care back on the surface before the day was out, as would the little knight, get yourself together and keep moving.

Trudging past, and catching the tight breath in her chest, before it could hitch, clenching her throat tight and scraping the heels of her palms toward the pitch centers with a firm scrub, staining already black palms a faintly darker pitch-- the right hand ground palm to the patched leg of her pants, lifting to clutch to the sculpted pin on her cloak’s shoulder, eyes pinching tight shut for but a moment.

“ _This was given to me by my mother, Hornet… and from her mother before her… and now… it is your time for the stone to be removed, and set in your color. Long has it been violet… and now will come the age it holds the color red with pride”_

She could still hear her voice…

A hard and firm sway shook her head, from the right to the left; she could still see those perfect white palace walls--

And with a cry, her hand, tight about her needle’s handle, slashed it through the air, sweeping with terrible ease through the near hanging drapery and leaving it to fall to the ground with no resistance, pottery that had gone undisturbed for decades scattered in clattering graceless shards as it exploded over the ground.

 _Damn_ it… this is why she avoided the path to this place-- why she never wanted to face that rubble, why she never _had_.

But she couldn’t avoid this forever, not any longer.

This demon that had clawed its path deep within her mind had wrought its damnable hell in her head for millennia-- denying her the solace she so craved, perhaps to find some semblance of closure in something remaining within the mess she had not yet even lain eyes on. By the skies, what horror could even lay in wait before the abyss, what could have been made of the home she had spent most of her youth at when not nestled away within her mother’s arms in the far reaches of Deepnest.

And the images that painted through her head, of the expanse perhaps lain to nothing but ash…

A terrible cry of fury and again her blade swung.

Lashing sharper now, the furniture that had withstood the test of time split into cleaved halves with ease beneath the power of Hornet’s strike, no splintering blast to tear them apart but caving from rot and the clean split driving the nearby desk and next the crumbling bookshelf to find itself destroyed.

And with blade raised…. her hand shook, before driving the needle’s tip into the floor.

Why didn’t you just face it earlier, Hornet.

You damn coward.

You just made this so much worse on yourself-- you should have just…

“You seem to be making a dreadfully terrible mess of things, Lady Hornet...”

And her eyes snapped open wide, the budding black of her tears welling at the corners of her wide drawn sockets, breath lodged tight in her chest as she spun round, stumbling back with a wrenching tug at the needle stuck in the ground.

That red…

It had not been but a lackey come through to follow their master’s orders and watch over her, no figure of Brumm, nor Divine’s tremendous form, nor some yet named entity bearing the man’s markings on some borrowed and mimicking mask… but the man in power himself.

Brow raised, the figure of the towering bug in charcoal strode nearer with an idle draw-- by the day’s glow, it was strange to see him outside of that crimson glow of his tent. “What ever could have the beginnings of tears in your eyes, oh Princess-- certainly only anger could spark such a response, mm?” And his expression curled with a coy grin, as though expecting some witty reply from her.

Only silence reigned, brow furrowing tight with anger that welled its pressure between her pitch hues.

  
  


“Why...”

His lilt of a smile faltered, no response given.

“Why have you followed me throughout my journey, I stated I would not be in your company until you came to learn yourself from another man’s memory--” And her words drew sharper, hissing and louder as she drew needle taut and form into a daring coil, tight wound and ready to lunge should the man give the wrong answer.

His expression shifted again, losing the gleam of some manner of an attempt at taunting her for this outlash, but gaining a facet of something on the cusp of nigh prideful, “Ah, and this is where I must correct you, you stated you would not return to the home of the Troupe’s performing grounds until I met your so said requirements, Lady Hornet-- I simply took it upon myself to cut my own path about your words so as to… let us say, accompany you on this outing you have taken upon yourself”

There he gave a coiling roll of his hand, his steps carrying him nearer with the near silent clicks of his claws as legs drew pedipalps to press in smooth drawing curves round one another.

“I do not need your company…” came her reply through taut clenched mandibles, uncoiling hand from about her gifted pin, and turning with a curt spin, a firm swipe at the tears that had budded in the corners of her eyes, she drudged forward with a driving and direct march.

“It is not an _option_ , my lady… I am coming with you… whether you should choose to like it or not is up to you but, I do believe you have no means of stopping me at the moment… lest you have learned something that I have not come to be aware of within the last few cycles, now have you?” Again his tone drew round to a taunting draw as his steps drew back to a smooth and rounding stride, easily keeping pace with her direct stride and even catching up with little effort.

She gave a short huff, rolling her eyes with a growl in her throat that only seemed to bring a subtle grin to the man’s face.

“As I so thought… I must ask… you seem to have a direct location set in mind… what could have you dredging through such a dreary ruin of such a long since fading memory-- certainly something that must be worthy of your time, mm?”

“Do not speak of this place as dreary, _Grimm…_ lest you have watched it fall to ruin and fought to hold together what still remains as I have-- you have naught the right to call this place a dreary ruin. This is my _home_ and you will respect it--” Her words drew curt, not paying his comment the glance that he so desired.

His expression, however, lost its grin, brow itself furrowing-- curious… (What was this… an ache to see her know such anger, such pain… and know that he was the one at its core. Usually, he drew such joy in the ire of another, and yet-- what drew such a _sensation_ to well within his chest--) “Then might I be so humbled in asking what your destination should be, Lady Hornet...”

Her head quirked in his direction, eyes faintly narrower, his tone lacked the mocking tone it had held before, as well as the haughty lilt it often carried. With its absence, she herself held to her silence for a missed moment of silence but her direct and forceful stride slowed, a slow exhale leaving her.

“I am… venturing for the palace ruins...”

And it clicked for a moment, perhaps the tears had been for something of the ruin yet to be seen of a home she had known from the inside and out, “A revisiting of such grounds, I am certain?”

The silence that returned his question was all the answer he needed.

“My lady, how many centuries has it been that the kingdom has since been falling into ruin… and you have not yet come to venture and explore the ruins of your once childhood home.” There is a drawl to his words, as though disbelieving that she would be so unwilling to return and collect if not one piece of her childhood to carry with her-- or perhaps a forgotten belonging, hell, even just to come back and see the sights at least once.

Crimson eyes flit to the pin on her shoulder, “What is it then… that you seek of this place, Hornet”

Again she falls silent, and he finds a semblance of amusement in it-- perhaps Divine had been correct in her statement that Hornet had deigned the shadow as her sibling… the two were terribly silent in their given moments.

“Proof...”

His gaze shifted back to her form at his side without the turn of his head, cloak-like wings neatly coiled about his form hiding the idle drum of his fingers on his forearms, claws drawing a subtle clattering roll of clicks that was drowned out by the downpour of the rain outside.

“Pardon my asking, proof of what”

And she stopped her stride, staring then out at the rain before the two of them, and her breath drew in slow and exhaled even slower.

“Many say that father was a king that ruled with a fist unbreakable, and that I can confirm in my youngest of memories-- but there are many memories I can recall in which he was kind to us… benign… a father.” Her eyes pressed shut with a second deep inward breath, stepping forward into the pouring rain that drew the faint staining streaks of black that marked the corners of her face to wash down and away in their drenching downpour.

“It’s been so long… the remaining bugs that survive don’t know what his rule was like, they only have the stories that survived, the ones written in stone, carved into his idols, etched into journals, and within the Dreamers’ towers and nests.”

She gave a bound forward, leaping to land on the ground before the entryway that lead toward the crumbling remains of the elevator shaft that had once carried the people safely to the once pristine grounds of the ancient basin.

And she braced herself, paying no mind to the pacing forms of the possessed guards behind her that had Grimm’s full attention drawn from beneath the ledge that stood furthest out to allow him to stand nearest Hornet without finding himself drenched by the rain.

“I need proof that it wasn’t something I imagined”

And her words drew crimson to flit at last to pitch hues--

She wanted to remember him as he was, not as the legends painted him out to be.

And stepping beneath the stone ledge, disappearing from Grimm’s view, before he rolled a sigh, crimson hues themselves giving a round in his sockets, a growl in his throat before stepping through into the rain-- the wafting steam that roiled from him lasting but a lingering moment as broad steps carried him to the edge, and then allowed him to duck beneath the ledge to follow the forlorn princess.

At least with the elevator, this descent would be--

Hornet’s battle cry reverberated through the air, the sound of her needle sailing forward and silk winding about the forward sailing form of the sentry bug sailing her way-- eyes burning that sickeningly familiar golden amber shade.

Arm extended with a quickness and a fiery manifestation of startling scarlet roars to life nearest his chest and fires forward, the winged entity striking the sentry as Hornet’s silk ensnared it, igniting the silk and catching the sentry alight--

_Excellent--!_

But the hissing cry from Hornet to see the bug’s form plummet through the air, hand extending to the depths as its red burning form vanished into the depths, the next sentry’s form diving for her on sight of this opening.

A sharp hiss left him-- an unnatural and unearthly flare of red energy seeping from the corners of his mouth before his form dashed, moving to gash the sentry’s carapace open wide with the fiery gleaming claws that burned on his right hand, hot enough to look at them singed the eye.

The bug’s eyes drew wide, swinging its weapon in what only seemed to be a semblance of fear-- something he knew to be a radius effect to those of weak mind near him in such a state.

But with a rending slash, the entity’s form erupted into flames, orange gore sputtering from within its form and its body plummeting through the air as red seemed to roil through its own orange bloated carapace, wings stilled and weapon falling free from its hand.

His face twisted with a taut grin-- pleased to see something like such a long possessed husk fall so quickly, an expression something so rarely seen… rarer still seen by someone and for the viewer to survive, but it was quick to fall at the cry from the other.

“ _No_!”

His head turned, shoulders losing their animalistic stagger, the glow that had encapsulated his claws dimming at the sight of the other with hand outstretched, leaning over the ledge, the faint whisper of a name on her tongue before the distinct words hit the cool air, “I’m sorry--”

And his expression drew inward, knitting taut with a frown, brow drawing downward as confusion wrought its path across his visage.

“Why do you weep for them, huntress--”

And her arm slackened, head dipping to hand in the air, eyes shutting, “They could be spared-- there is no reason to slaughter the both of them-- what if when it is over they could come back… they could have been saved...”

And his brow furrowed… this, _blame_ … he had seen this before. In the dreams of mortals that believes their true loves could have been saved had they come in sooner, the nightmares that haunted them, the survivors that fought to believe they could have done more had they only worked for something more.

He did not like the scent it drew off the Huntress… too strong… and far too deep set.

“How do you they could be saved...” His words were collected, cool in tone, stepping nearer toward the ledge, wings unfurling from about him, and gaze shifting to stare down at the faint and still burning but now fading twin lights of crimson far below at the bottom of this far reaching pit.

There went the could have been easy descent into these ancient grounds… he was fairly certain he could spy the cool metal gleam reflect the red glint of fading embers as the last sparks began to die out--

How long had he been gone for this kingdom to fall to such ruin.

“How do you know that they couldn’t--”

Her hands pushed at the platform, the same cool tone he had used returning his own question, and seeming to cement this frustration in place. No, this was not something such an entity should face-- she was of Higher Being blood, she should not focus on such trivialities of mortal lives, they came and went with the passings of time-- it was inevitable… what was it of this place that drew such guilt to rise in this once so fiery woman.

There was a quick spun length of silk wound about Hornet’s arm, it was as though she were preparing for something… were there entities she were aware of that he had not yet sensed?

Keen red hues scoured below, stepping toward the ledge and forward with a flap of his wings to search with a burning pulse of energy that scoured the very plane of existence surrounding the pair… no… there was nothing near… but he could taste that rot in the air of something far below.

“How long has it been since you have returned here…”

Silence again answered his question, but it only drew ire to build in his chest, “I require an answer, huntress… how long have you run from the ruins you seek to scour.” And yet she remained silent ever still, taking her own leap down into the pit with keen grace and plummeting beyond and into the pitch and its swirling grasp far below as though she knew its every curve and danger before it could so approach her.

Dammit--

A snarl built in his throat, form flickering in his frustration to something otherworldly, unearthly and grotesque for but a moment, she tried his patience.

And with a dive, his own form rippled through in flickering flares of brilliant red, rippling past the many platforms and their spiked edges, watching the other plummet with pristine grace and land to stop and stare at the smoking husks of the sentries he had downed.

His form manifested in a renewed thunderstrike of red, blooming in the air in a burst-- wings keeping him afloat and nigh ethereal and looming. “Had I not struck them down, it would have been you… or whatever next fool wandered too far from the safest path”

Her gaze flitted to his, “And what am I to do should this be undone… they are another lost to this…” And a breath drew deep into her being, brow furrowing, a look he found that he did not like on her shell.

“Yet another I could not save…”

And with that, his eyes drew from their stark rounds to thin slits, wings stilling and landing with a sharp dive, dust pluming at his feet, direct stride slicing through the cool air, “Another you could not save-- none… of them can be saved… they are lost to her… _she_ will never let them go until she is dealt with… and once she loses her grasp, their bodies will not have the strength to retain the millennia they have withstood”

And her face drew tight with a sneer, moving to make her own rebuttal, only for his form to flicker with his glinting fury, “You _yourself_ \--” Something unearthly sparked before her, devoid of mortal being, rippling with many eyes and lashing crimson being, “--have stated that it is no use to stand in another’s shadow, and yet here you are, basking in the shadow of your father, stating you could save them, when you know they are long since lost to her grasp” And the flickering glimpses, the shifting flickers that consumed his form if only by glimpsing facets at the corners and glimpses of one’s vision.

“My sister has _never_ known mercy… and she will _never_ give up what she loses alive...”

And he prepared for it… that fear, that fiery and sparking terror to burn high and icy in the woman’s being, to spark fire within him he could draw life force from… to see that realization in her eyes that he was related to _her_ by blood and loathe him--

But it never came.

The fear… did not spark…

And that hate… did not ignite within her eyes as he swore it would.

She…

She did not respond as the others had… as… as _everyone_ had-- even the King himself, even… the Wyrm… had known fear and refused him for his heritage. But she…

No, the only thing he saw that bled into her expression, was not anger, nor hate, nor fear, but a dull ache that seemed to swell through for a moment… her gaze shifting, she knew it had been the truth. She had known this for a very long time, but to cling to this hope… to remember these bugs for who they were, and pray to whatever entities could perhaps be above even the Higher Beings… that maybe they could be restored.

It was enough to help her get through the days when she had known only her own company to pass the millennia.

And he drew a sigh, this ache in his chest only seeming to burn hotter at the sight of that expression burning its path across Hornet’s face.

“I must request your answer… my lady Hornet…”

Her head lifted, not enough to meet her stare with his, but it was enough that the thin drawn slits began to draw back to rounds. “How long has it been since you have last seen the palace grounds...”

And it clicked by a moment of silence, where he feared she would only let silence fall to supplement itself in place of an answer. His breath growled from him in an air warping rush, eyes pressing shut as had lifted to knead at the bridge between his eyes.

“Since the Coronation…”

And he paused, hand supporting his elbow, hand left his face to lock stare back on the other, spying the subtle shift in her stance, the fainter lift of her head, turning toward the entryway toward the far left.

“It has been...”

She could only nod at the start to his comment, silencing the near disbelief to his tone.

“You were correct… if I am to state you are in a man’s shadow… then I cannot stand in the man’s shadow myself and cling to the corpse of what has already died of this kingdom…” Her breath shook in her chest, something that drew a tight clench of his fist, something beyond his own control, “But I can salvage what is still breathing”

And with a forward stride, and her needle again drawn, Hornet’s blade seemed ready for more than but a simple sting--

Peculiar… why did he feel a spark of pride for the woman…

  
  


“Are you certain you are not in need of a lift, my lady--”

“I am more than capable of leaping this wall myself, thank you, Troupe Master--”

It had been something slow at first, but cathartic, building from the first strike to the ghoulish form of rotted sentries and their husk like bodies, quick to fall to a well-aimed blade, and a burst of scarlet flame to ensure no such return would perhaps be in the works--

But to see the fire come back with the fervor into her eyes… it was something almost…

No, what are you saying, she is no one to you, what joy do you take in the woman’s elation nor in her pride, she is to be guarded by you-- it is an oath you swore, and nothing more.

For the sake of the stars, she struck you like a mortal man--

But… it was just that…

She felt no fear-- he was just that, Nightmare King, the personification of the Nightmare Heart and it’s rhythmic pulse that drew fear into mortal sleep and strong enough it allowed it to bleed into the day. She did not fear that of fear himself and… perhaps he had to admit… she was certainly a lady of-- shall we say remarkable interest.

“Are you certain, You are a terribly slight thing, I do not mind in hoisting you high--” And with a posh and proper huff, she kicked off the ground, rebounding off the wall, and onto the ledge, a lilting smile visible on her face, and a giggle catching in her throat as she peered down at him from her place above.

“Are you certain _you_ will be able to come up here, you are a terribly tall thing, I just believe you may not quite fit-- if you should need, I could certainly find the means to dig into the wall so as to give you the space--”

There was a grand flare of his hand, as though offended, giving a showman’s feign of sorrow, “Ah, you _wound_ me, my lady, what ever will I do to recover from such a devastating--” And in a whirlwind of red, his form erupted in flames, a spectral light manifesting, and curling through the air, to land but meters behind the other and bloom back into being coiled forward into a bow.

Hornet’s eyes rolled, a chuckle caught in her throat as she stepped nearer toward Grimm’s form, chest expanding as she drew a long and deep breath to steady herself for the culmination of destruction that had haunted her all these years, a moment flitting by where the towering bug stared her down, that taste of fear, at last, sparking in her and igniting the glittering red embers deep within her being.

Fuel for his very life force, something intoxicating to know it came from such a powerful and legendary warrior… and yet rather pitiful to know the source of the sparks that caught its kindling alight.


	8. To Catch Your Shadow (Part 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here is Part 2, as I did get terribly carried away, I do apologize if this chapter feels subpar-- to me it feels... peculiar-- but, I believe it brings things toward our desired goal
> 
> (Again I still cannot think of a chapter summary)

Keep it together, Hornet, it’s not as terrible as you should so make it seem. This is a day that has long since been in waiting for your return, here is not the time to turn your back-- that has long since passed with your facade of hope for the long dead to return finally splintering.

She was fairly certain if she turned round that Grimm would simply warp before her and block the path, not as though she were entirely certain she had the heart to flee in this moment.

“Do not allow this moment to build weakness in you, my lady…”

And eyes drew shut… of course, he would be able to smell it on her, the god of nightmares and all that tomfoolery, her failure was certain and evident to someone else for the first time in millennia. It drew the ice of welling embarrassment to swell its weight into her chest to drag down into her gut-- but… turning her head toward the side and eyes pressed shut.

“I understand you fear what you will find… but you know not what you have to face until you face it, Hornet…”

Eyes opened, gaze shifting to spy back to the troupe master with a low and slow exhale of a breath she had not realized she had been holding, uncoiling her hands from the taut fists for but a moment to step forward, nearer toward the Higher Being.

He was right, she knew as much, she had faced far worse in these many years… this…

Her fists coiled tighter, drawing the chitin to creak with strain, as though the very shell threatened to split from the force-- and loosened, uncurling as her head lifted and shoulders pressed from their taut coil inward.

No… do not let such weakness settle within you now… it’s just…

It’s _just_ …

Her legs moved to carry her before she could think on how much she just did not want to face this… stepping round the towering bug to leave the mouth of the cavernous hall that had once been that familiar and gleaming white, so different from those ages before that it drew an ache to settle alongside the bubbling anxious frothing energy deep settling within her gut.

And she could see it… something from the corner of her eye, the fractured white stone of towering columns. Broken halls reduced to shards of alabaster and white quartz… and she supposed… compared to that fear she had felt of the home she had known being lain to little more then swept ash, this was something… manageable.

But as her head turned, it still ached to see it-- that fear that had been welling and quickly dying with the deep washing wave of sorrow that poured through, snuffing out the burning fear’s embers with the cold and clenching weight of this gloom.

Stave like structures bearing her father’s mantle… that familiar crown of horns of the Wyrm himself, jutted from the rubble-- many bent out of recognizable shape, and many more clinging to their rigid structure despite the tests of time.

She supposed that was the glory of Pale ore…

Hand lifted… ghosting over the pin adorning her left shoulder, tracing over the sculpted form of the weaver and its vinework clutching the body of the arachnid to the crimson jewel beneath it-- Pale ore was capable of many things it seemed. Even with such loathsome care…

She supposed it was his gift to this world…

More so she supposed, as eyes scanned beyond the fractured structure of what had once been the gleaming gate to the Palace’s main entryway, stepping forward to the edge of the crumbling platform to gaze over the rubble-- with the grand body of what had been that sky-bound castle in all its glory lain to waste before her… it was a gift that many pieces of it had lost their familiarity.

Certainly, it did ache, this tightness in her throat to recognize pillars she had run past in her youth…

_Laughter echoed through the illuminated halls, swirling clouds beyond the banisters a silvered white hue, as twin forms raced through the glimmering ivory halls, the Lunafly lanterns glittering high overhead as the brilliant spot of red darted round the corner with the like height form of the slate cloaked other close on her tail._

_A game of chase and she was fast but, ah, she knew the other to be faster--_

A blink of her eyes and her head turned, stepping through the fractured gateway, and with a swift leap from the ledge to the near crumbling edge of jagged white stone, her head turned once more to gaze over the damage of this once beloved kingdom Capital.

This place felt cold… it had always been something on the side of cool to the shell, but now… it just felt… empty, she would call it something more, something more, but that word did not deserve to be spoken here.

But it was the only thing that fit.

It felt… _hollow_ …

Scarlet glow of the man’s form drifting nearer from the platform edge caught her eye and beckoned her attention with a subtle turn of her head, descending from the stone surface to step nearer as though he were weightless, holding to his promise to stay near her side throughout this endeavor.

Eyes shifted gaze once more, scouring the grounds for something… anything--

The near dust rendered remains of tapestries hung high on pillars, outside of the reach of where marauders could lunge to grab the precious item… but it meant little to her.

_Giggling, barely contained, all she saw beyond the crimson glow of the reflection of her own cloak against the white fabric of the gleaming white tapestry, hands knit within the thick fabric and helm pressed to its surface, trying her mightiest to stand as still as she could so as to not be found._

_The sound of clattering claws over the cool stone tile could be heard, a contemplative hum heard as her giggling fell to silence, the smooth hum of the King’s voice rolling through his study’s plush and neatly kept confines, “Ah, I can only wonder where ever my dearest child has gotten herself off to”_

_And with a flitting round of giggles, and a lift of the tapestry, she spied the king’s grand tail clasping the thick fabric within pincers and his form leaning nearer with an amused gleam in his eye, “Ah hah--! There hides the mighty huntress--”_

_And a forward sweep of his arms and the tapestry is released but the red-cloaked heiress is captured to be swept into the King’s grasp._

Again her steps carried her forward, taking no attention paid to the craggy surface, nor to the jagged stone of the ridges, viciously sharp points avoided as though she had walked the path a million times before, and a bound forward, her hand grazed the split remains of a column.

And she spied it… the barely together corner of a room buried in rubble-- it was so odd to see so much of this place destroyed, but find such comfort in such a small piece of this place held together.

Bounding with keen grace over the craggy spaces left by the gouges made in the earth by where the palace had crumbled and torn it through, she stepped nearer, spying the smaller rubble, and pressed a larger stone aside with her foot.

Etched stone that had barely survived the test of time caught her attention, and her gaze shifted to the broken staff end of one of the many lantern staves that had lined that grand palace’s halls. Wedging it beneath the breadth of a larger stone, and pressed with the weight of her petite form and all strength she could muster to attempt to press it aside.

With great strain, the alabaster stone ground over, lifting from the floor it had long since found itself near cemented to. Her arms shook from the strain of it, hissing at the weight of this damnable height and petite form she had been cursed with.

Warmth, foreign in this nigh icy place seemed to edge nearer toward her, a hand grasping the stave’s post and holding it in place, long enough for her attention to jolt from the hefted stone that had once perhaps been the ceiling of the room far above, but now an obstacle in her path.

Looming near, attention seemed as well caught on the hefted stone, before glancing up to where it had once hung high above, as though almost reminiscing for the world it had once belonged to, before crimson stare flitted to meet with her own, “I believe I have spied something beneath it, Lady Hornet” And with his words, her own eyes widened, flitting to the weighty stone, and darted to the shadow beneath it.

He was right--!

Beneath the stone, something sculpted, it seemed to be the corner of something long since hidden within the earth, buried in the dust and rubble, compacted beneath the silt and blackened earth that slipped in and beneath the cracks.

It wasn’t much but she swore she could spy the sculpted edge of something white beneath it, swirling and soft, almost floral, and almost filigree in a sense. It struck a chord as familiar, but-- she wasn’t certain, was it something of but a passing by… or was it born of the same everlasting ore her father had brought with him on his descent into this world.

Was it a frame… was it the frame she could consider home to proof the man was a true father to her and to… to the one so wrongly imprisoned.

The warm hand between her own left, and attention returned to the cloaked other at her side as her weight forced down. The same hand extended, lifting to snap fingers and an entity manifesting in a whirlwind of red, then another, and then a third, the masked creatures all seeming to bear his mark over their shells… no… their masks.

“You will get nowhere with brute force alone… there are times others must do your work, many are ready and willing to be at your service… _princess_ ” Crimson hues flitted to meet with hers as arm coiled back through the air, the opposite neatly tucked behind his form.

It’s a flash in that moment as the entities press at the staggeringly weighty stone to force it from the ground, their will unyielding for the man that called for their servitude-- that she recalls the many bugs that knew of her, knew of her legend, knew of who she really was… and swore their assistance should she call on them.

And yet… she had never called on them…

What right had she… she had run from her coronation day… did she even deserve to be called princess?

With a tumbling crash, and a pluming burst of red, the three entities readied staves of their own, seeming ready to bear something above them but empty in this moment-- perhaps some manner of the same scarlet flame the Nightmare King himself thrived on.

Stepping nearer she stared down at the visible sculpted ledges of the nigh buried structure before her. Broken stave of her own in hand, she drove it to the side of it, digging firm into the gathered earth, searching for where it would no longer give, and scraping at it with a wrenching drag. It was dense compacted, but caved beneath the force of the jagged edge, a second scraping drag and then a third and she could hear it-- the sound of metal to thick plated stone.

She could remember banging training nails to the frame for the odd noise it would make--

This was it…

_This was the frame…_

Grimm’s words rang through her mind, brute force alone would get her nowhere… and eyes flitted to the three hovering entities. There was no way it could have survived all these centuries, but she had to see if but a scrap of it still existed.

“I do not care if it is caked in the earth, get this frame and whatever it connected to it out from under this silt--”

She would not see it as the Grimmkin darted without hesitation to answer her command, but the corner of the charcoal cloaked cirque’s master quirked with amusement. The earth groaned with great resistance, trio of floating summoned servants giving no moment to pause, as one drove the sharp end of their staff into the earth and wrenching up to lift the dark compacted earth from its place compacted within the frame’s center.

The second wedged their own staff beneath and gave a prying tear as the third seemed to work near tirelessly with brilliant red magic rolling from its being to clear the rubble from about the frame’s sides, digging at the sides with the jagged stones hefted from the ground.

Hornet’s brows furrowed, arms crossing before her form, the long since broken stave still within her grasp, thumb running over the surface of the fine details and exhaling a long and slow breath.

Perhaps… he was right in saying she did not have to do this alone.

Brow furrowed in thought, how long had she really been alone to accept that she would be doing everything on her own-- that she _needed_ to do this all on her own… that she _could_ without the eventual collapse that she had come so near to before the company of… the little knight had come through into her life.

“It is unlikely the image you seek will be intact, you realize...”

And breath rolled from her in a long and low exhale.

A nod of her head and she turned her head to glance to the taller entity at her side, the lithe man nigh leering down at her from his position but a meter from her. Eyes turned attention back to the nigh tireless and yet strained work of the trio of near-identical entities clawing away at the earth that had attempted to reclaim the frame--

She could see the dirt cave, crack away as it lifted, the filigree revealed in a sector and hope spiraling high to spike at the sorrow in her throat. A portrait long lost of her painted with the King and her mother, the Beast herself, Herrah. The grace of the image was nigh palpable, but the warmth of it was just as much so-- she needed to see if it was there… salvageable… if its canvas still held together.

“Still… I must hope there is something to be had of this… beyond just this frame.”

Her eyes flitted to him, long enough to catch the glint of something contemplative on his face before his stare turned to the conjured servants before them, to which her own attention followed.

In time to hear the sick sound of rotting wood cave and split as the earth at the center bore down too weighty and drug the backing of the frame down with a dry and firm thud… but something about it sounding split enough to signify the dirt had come away enough that perhaps there could be something with the thin layer of barely together wood.

In a forward dart, Hornet bolted for the frame as the trio of Grimmkin carefully lifted and set the dirt-caked frame aside, turning to watch, and one moving with a quickness to assist as Hornet’s attention went to splitting the dirt away and finding whether or not the paint could have perhaps held any semblance of color.

It split with relative ease but… as it caved to the side akin to split stone, with rotting canvas crumbling, any oil paints that had once stood on the surface had long since been swallowed up by the many years of earth that had compiled over it.

She supposed it was what she had earned for refusing to face this place… for refusing to face this sort of agony now welling its place within her chest.

A curse spilled from her, not of mortal tongues… but of something just beyond, fingertips grazing over the decaying woven surface that only caved beneath her feather-light touch. Her throat clenched tight as sorrow resurfaced its ungodly grasp about her, brow furrowing and a new curse flitting from her, head dropping forward as her grasp on the ledge of the silt rich earthen ledge to drop and land back firm with a hard thud.

Of course, it would be so far gone…

~~As though you deserve such a warm memory--~~

A hand curled into the corner of her vision, dark red gleaming chitin offering itself to her and remaining firmly still, her head remained hung low, pitch tears threatening to spill for but a moment. “Raise your head, my lady… I believe I may have something to replace this…”

And she remained still, exhaling slow, eyes pressing shut to attempt to steady herself… the memory of the painting that she had been hoping to return to the hut burning hot at the far reaches of her mind, how unruly she had been that day, the lengths the two had gone to have the painting completed in a timely manner… but the amusement and laughter of it she could still feel even now even though she had known she had been but…

Even now, she could recall the scarlet cloaked figure of the man now at her side convincing her to keep still with promise of stories later, of dancing images that painted stories before her very eyes… of worlds long since lost, spoken legends of lost colonies on celestial bodies she could only dream of.

Crimson eyes remained locked on her, waiting with hand extended, and drew half-lidded with a pleased glint as her hand, drawn to an almost greyed shade from the earth caking it in her attempts to claw through the split earth and heft it aside, took then a moment to glance to her as her head lifted to meet gazes.

Far larger hand wound about hers, pulling her to her feet with a subtle carefulness to his touch, as though if only in this moment he could spare the cruelty that settled deep in his core, and set aside mockery if only to allow her solace in this moment.

She drew a second low breath, steadying herself once more, recalling the contemplative look he had allowed to pass in the moments before, “What could you have that could come close to something of this level…”

“You will have to see, will you not?”

And there was a subtle incredulous shake of her head, a disbelieving chortle rushing from her, hand still clasped in the taller man’s own, “And why should I believe you.”

He remained silent a moment, staring down at her as her head shifted to gaze off to the frame the trio of summoned entities were carefully taking to cleaning of the earth, knowing now that the confines that had once been mounted to this exquisite frame were now beyond salvation… but this… orders were orders.

Pitch turned back to meet with scarlet, waiting in the silence, and yet she did not draw back her hand, drawing on the moments that passed in lieu of the answer to come.

“You have no reason to trust me… no proof but what you know of me, my lady…”

Her gaze did not shift, thoughts flitting by as she processed his words, allowing them to echo in scouring and ringing hums, the old world was gone. She had nothing now to remember it… nothing but what she could scarcely recall, and even now… this man with her hand clasped within his own--

She had no reason to trust him.

She bore no reason to allow him to stand at her side.

Nor did she have a sole reason to so much as allow him to hold her hand as he did in this moment.

And yet…

“If we are to return to the surface before the evening’s fall, we must leave now, the ascent will take far longer than the descent has--” Her motion to make to leave was interrupted with his own smooth and rasping voice.

“I believe there are far far more expedient means to travel these grounds, should you trust me with such means…”

But did she trust him…

What did he mean by expedient means… she had seen him vanish before her eyes and reappear in a whirlwind of flames-- was it to say he could extend such a gift to encapsulate her as well… was it to say he was testing just how willing she was to trust him despite the cruelty she knew him to be capable of.

She knew what he could do, she had seen the terror in Divine’s eyes… the claw marks to sculpt up the throat of her shell… and yet she could recall warmth from him in days far before time such as this could have been recorded as this cruel decayed kingdom’s current being.

Did she trust him...did she trust those crimson flames to encapsulate her with warmth as she remembered… and not scorch her in the process.

Her hand grasped faintly tighter about his, “Then let us set off, shall we?”

She could swear the scarlet sheen to his shell gleamed in a swirling round in that moment, a lilt of a smile catching the far corner of his expression. And in the next moment, the whirling heat of red was all she could see, a brilliant warmth surrounding her, brushing on the cusp of far too hot for comfort, almost scorching but-- in the way a winter hearth burned to scorch away the iciest of chills.

And in the next moment, before she could swear her breath had even next been taken, but a blink of the eye, and hand still embraced within the other’s-- the crumbled ruins of her childhood home were replaced by the red gleaming and yet foreign confines of what she could only assume to be the tent on the far outskirts of the fading town.

Though with the nigh artfully tattered linens hanging high above, she was uncertain just where within the cirque she could perhaps be.

It seemed to be rather luxuriously decorated, swathed in dark and crimson tapestries and walls shelved with tomes and scrolls of what she could only assume to be lost information or perhaps scripture from foreign kingdoms.

His hand uncurled from about hers to step away toward the intricately carved shelves, opposite hand coming outstretched to search through the many shelves of scrolls… or so it seemed he was moving to do. Fingertips brushed over the tattered edges of many of the scrolls, each gleaming with patterns of red in various glittering lines that flickered as claw tips made brief contact, but left--

None quite seemed to be the right one by her assumption before his gaze seemed to fall on a single scroll, hand pausing over the lone wound parchment-- was it parchment…? No… it was canvas, gleaming a sharp shade of red in intricate scrolling lines over what she could see over the back of it.

Turning back round to face her, he stepped nearer, offering the scrolled canvas, it was terribly long… and motioned toward a near set desk, was this his personal office, or some manner of private quarters by some manner?

Delicate, uncertain by some level, her hands outstretched, cupping the scroll to grasp it, and watched as his grasp left and the lines faded through to nothing… so it was some manner of seal he had personally set on whatever this weighty item in fact was.

It only drew her curiosity to bubble and curl higher with fronds of whirling smoke-- just what could he have meant when he said he had something that could replace the painting lost.

Turning toward the sculpted desk, pausing a moment and settling it almost delicately on the surface, pressing slow with a hand at first, she spied a familiar lower corner, eyes drawing wide at the gleaming imagery of painted silvered flora.

And with an overzealous press, the painting unfurled over the desk to unveil a long and nigh almost forgotten portrait of the King in his grandeur, with his legendary knight at his side, and heiress at the opposite.

The warmth was not quite as gleaming as it had been in the days she recalled standing poised in regalia for the painting, and fighting laughter in moments where her father could not restrain himself on the idle jokes to slip free, nor the prodding nudges into her side to attempt his best to disturb her grand posture though the artisan had only just begun.

This was… proof.

“I…” She was… breathless. Her head turned, eyes wide, shifting to look to the other, and spying his form standing near, admiring the gleaming shine to the very banisters in the far back of the portrait, and the glow surrounding as it had been on that day.

“Raiders had cleared the grounds of most valuables while I was away on business regarding reasoning as to why I am, in turn, here in this day and age-- I took the time to…” He paused, as though to think on how to phrase his next words. “...take it off their hands the moment I learned of its presence in their possession” There was a certain air to it that marked that there had been a far darker fate to those foolish enough to claim the palace treasures as their own… namely something so personal to the family.

It was all she could do to stare up at the man, blinking… no, this did not make sense to her… she had seen what he was capable of… she had seen his cruelty.

Why this…

Why this sudden kindness.

“Why are you giving this to me.”

And he drew a breath, long and low, hand lowering to draw palm smoothing and slow over the surface of the painting, the path in which his hand drew over leaving that same crimson gleam of the paths of the seal he had left over the canvas.

“I may be devoid of mercy… but I am capable of knowing when something is more valuable in another’s possession than it is in my own…”

And her breath pressed from her, eyes falling back to this painting, and the man’s hand on it.

“My servants will have the frame restored to its former glory before the night has fallen, if time is willing, the portrait should be mounted to it as well before such”

Her chest clenched with this weight… something weighted and yet… bright, gaze lifting back to him.

“Thank you…”

His head lifted, eyes taking a faint shift in expression, as though the man were surprised, “This is more than I expected to… ever see again. Thank you, Grimm… thank you”

And that usually unreadable and cold gleam to his expression softened, or perhaps she had imagined it, for in the next moment it was gone behind that mask of that ice he carried in her presence.

“I am simply doing as I have vowed…”

But in this moment, watching the man turn from her and move to leave, she was uncertain so much was entirely the truth.

  
  


The knight gaze on at the pristine portrait of an era long lost of the realm of this kingdom long since fallen, the gleaming image of the knight of legend beside the hallowed King, and Hornet’s own form beside the pair.

Nymwae’s gaze itself seemed enraptured within the very finest of details of the portrait, eyes nigh glimmering at the flowers alone.

Their head turned, shadow born vessel’s head shifting to look off to the heiress, and stepping to her bedside to gently pat, calling her attention from gazing toward the far wall, through which one could only picture the red gleam of the towering cirque tent far beyond the edge of the humble town.

She gave a soft jolt, head dipping to drop stare to look down to her sibling with a curious hum.

Knight’s hand met with the side of her bed gave a subtle pat a moment longer before gaze shifted to the tremendous painting to the far wall, and back to her.

‘ _Where did you get this relic from…?’_

She could almost hear the question on the other’s silent tongue-- had they a voice, that is.

There was a soft hum and chortle, a hand lifting to settle atop their head to nestle it back and forth between their horns, “I am not certain you would quite believe me.” And with a gentle pat, her opposite hand, turning to swing legs over the edge of her cot to carefully spin the other around, and gently nudge them forward.

“Come now, Knight-- it is far too late, you as well, little one”

And with a nestling rustle and little effort to corral the two toward their shared cot, despite her best effort to get them nestled toward the opposite ends, it seemed that Nym had their attention best set on cozying up to the knight’s cool carapace.

Ah, it could do no harm…

She turned, settling back to rest back on her cot’s swaying center, a hum in her throat for but a moment, chuckling soft at the gentle trilling churr heard from the Grimmchild nestling in closer to the knight’s side.

With another glance toward the glow she could now solidly envision through the wall of the hut…

Yes, she supposed it could do no harm.


	9. Affinity for One's Company

There was something of a chaotic dance about the daily routine of the far yonder Troupe-- a soft semblance of grace about it, but an understanding of who would be where and when at a certain time. More something of an organized chaos she could suppose, gazing from atop the broken ledge of the once grand bridge’s last support.

She had not had the time to come to return to the side of the fading town outside of idle chatter with the Elderbug, something she had taken up, instilled in her by her last time spent at Grimm’s side.

And she could not find the means to beseech the other or another day spent pestering him for the sheer sake of her curiosity, he had to have some reason to have returned to the kingdom with his child chained to a charm.

The thought of it still had a fire building hot in her gut and ready to lash out at the man-- but… certainly, he could not have come all this way to have their sibling play nanny and seek out the means to keep an eye on her and keep true to a long since dead man’s promise with the sake of her safety the key behind whether or not his end of the deal was kept or not.

No, there had to be some ulterior reason behind this.

At least-- this was what she justified her reasoning behind sitting to watch the cirque for the day, to watch them dance about one another and keep the tidings of the camp in clean order.

Hoping perhaps the Troupe may give a lead to just what could have them wandering these fields above the infection saturated underground far below her dangling feet, currently idly swinging through the air before crossing in a rather dainty and lady-like manner.

A hum left her, carried away to no near set listener by the howling breeze pouring in from behind her. Was it truly just that she sought to seek the dark reasoning behind the other’s presence here… there was an itch to her shell at the thought of that alone being the truth--

An itch she had known many a century for those that flitted by and dared to command their words as truth, an indicator of one’s lies, something swirling and unsettling in her veins, dark and weighted and yet scramblingly flitting over the skin of her carapace.

But… she could not lie to herself-- such a feat was impossible, of course--

The itch drew the faintest bit more unbearable.

A hand lifted to smooth over the white shell of her head, a breath leaving her-- perhaps she wanted to see the Troupe Master, it had been some days since their last encounter, yes, but-- what could she justify this curiosity to see the other so near again.

The last encounter before this past one, she had struck him like a mortal man, disgust hot in her chest-- and before that she had dueled him as though he were a shade out to upturn the roots of this kingdom’s past.

So why was he so ready to spend time in her company, did she truly look that lonely?

And she paused…

Was she truly that lonely to find herself growing attached to another entity that could not so easily fall to the tethers of time to drag him down through and into the ether… leaving her… alone again.

Or was there something else to it that had her daring to seek a means to latch onto the man’s companionship for a day.

Certainly not…

The itch to her shell drew sharper still…

It wasn’t anything of the sort… nothing more than a curiosity.

Her hand lifted to scrape claws in a smooth sweep down the side of her helm, pinching an eye shut and digging to sate the itch a moment, hand even dipping to itch at the nape of her neck. A shake of her head and a sigh, the glowing mark of the King’s Brand on her neck uncovered briefly by the collar of her cloak to dig and disappearing back beneath the stark red weaver silk in a tuck of her hand.

~~You’re falling for him…~~

It was the first time in a while that she had at last responded to these stray thoughts, clutching her helm and giving a second shake. Nonsense-- _nonsense_! She knew herself better than anyone else could hope to know her, but these incessant nagging thoughts were far from correct-- they knew her weakest points, and this was not one of them.

She was certain of it.

A grunt, frustrated at the warmth painting its path across her shell, eyes opening from their tight shut pinch, a huff in her chest. And she stared for a moment in the grey space between the planes far below and the air before her-- this attachment to the man’s presence was just because she had been alone so long.

Watching the Kingdom live in its zenith and losing everyone in the course of a few decades… it was enough to make anyone want to latch onto someone once they’ve finally begun cracking at the walls they’d built up all these years to keep things from hurting.

Was she so simple to catch the hook of attachment beneath her shell?

~~Cut it loose of you, huntress...~~

But a spark of movement drew her from her thoughts before they could anchor.

Far below, a glint of sharp red caught her eye, a pluming wisp as the Troupe Master himself strode forward from the confines of the tent to oversee something that had drawn many of the masked entities to work on for the duration of the morning, seeming to lug back sheets of fabric, and thick cord she had seen used for sewing together the panels of grand but temporary structures.

Had something happened to the tent?

Again crimson caught her eye, a twin set of vibrant eyes locking with her pitch hues, the cool breeze rolling her cloak to flutter from her place seated, his own close hugging cloak seeming to flutter about him in the breeze pouring through.

There was no motion to demand her presence, but the length of his stare marked something curious within Hornet to come alight. With a forward leap, silk bracing her fall, she almost seemed to spin like a petal caught in the breeze, with the very same grace before landing with a soft plume of the dust over the compacted earth.

She remained there a moment, watching the man pause, glancing over his shoulder as though to acknowledge her before treading forward to round the corner, and she paused, was she really about to follow the man just because she was curious…

A sigh left her, head dipping forward, yes… yes, she was.

And with her arms then crossing beneath her cloak, she continued her pace forward to find just why the troupe master could have caught her attention but not called for her to come down.

The distance was soon closed, looping behind the tent with curiosity looming high, stepping round, and eyes going wide on sight of the trio of the troupe members, those of which she knew to be something summoned by Grimm himself. Two of them braced a ladder, and the third seemed to be carefully cutting along the length of the seam to split away the single panel they were focused on.

She could see the man utter a growling sigh, pinching the place of his shell directly between his eyes, that of which were drawn shut in his frustration.

She couldn’t help the amused titter that left her.

Crimson eyes opened as she stepped nearer, her arms uncrossing from before her chest, watching as his cloak tucked neatly back about his form.”I dare take it some villager has perhaps taken it upon themselves to make a mess of your beloved tent?” Her voice lilted with mirth, eyes dropping to the crimson that matched the surrounding panels and lifting back high to the Grimmkin slicing through the bound seams.

“You would find amusement in my misfortune, would you not, my lady” He gave a hum, as though rather amused by her own humor found in this.

Her eyes scanned over the surface of the panel and blinked in recognition. Oh _dammit_ , she knew those slash marks-- as well as those burn marks.

It seemed the two had been playing a little too close to the tent and run when they had realized the trouble they had made.

It was to be expected, Nymwae had recently experienced a tremendous leap in growth-- as in, overnight, the energy to fuel something like that had to have been tumultuous and needed some means of grounds to express and find itself a use.

What better way to burn energy for a child than to play…?

“My sincerest apologies, Grimm… I had not kept my eye on them, I believe this must have happened in my latest rounds about the ruins.” Her daily scout to find something… anything, any _one_ that might still be alive down there. Perhaps another colony, perhaps another tribe… _someone._

The black hues scan over the scorch marks, and then flit back to meet with crimson, a sigh falling from her, “I can assist in the repairs, as it is my responsibility to find the time to oversee the two of them, and I have obviously failed as much” A hand planted itself on her hip, opposite cupping her brow with a shake of her head.

He gave a moment of thought, or at least, she supposed he did… his eyes never left her, save for a fleeting moment and then drew back to her. “No such claim is necessary, Lady Hornet”

“Oh, but it is-- I must assist in repairing the damages by some means” It was all she knew, to help was to prove her worth. Perhaps this could, as well, be a means to get nearer and see just what the man wanted of this dying place.

He lifted his right hand with a subtle grace, and a faint shake of the head, “I refuse such an offer, my lady, I would much prefer your company for the day to trade stories of our travels in place of something so menial.” His hand coiled back toward himself, fingers curling in a roll from their position held before his chest, seeming to be almost standing proudly taller than her, gazing down upon the huntress. Ah, at last, she thought, the man thinks he’s got leverage or something of the likes over her.

She very nearly scoffed.

As though she would ever let anyone get any hand up on her with her willing to sit idly by without repaying it.

She had sought the means to get closer to the man and see just what he could have in store for Hallownest-- and here he nigh insulted her with this grandeur of belief her assistance would only bring damage to his cirque’s center attraction construct.

Believing perhaps, she thought, that she would be too haughty and high holding of herself to ever dare share company with a man unaccompanied. No, those times were long since over… and she could not help but titter a laugh at the downward steered glean in his eye.

“Then I will do just that--”

And he blinked, so thrown off that even his subjects paused their work to stare in surprise at the Master so thrown off by another’s actions-- he was a master of predictions, or of understanding just what went on in the heads of those surrounding him. So for this bug… no, this Higher Being, to catch him off guard with her proposal, there was a glance between them before hurriedly returning to their work before his sharp glare could turn on them.

And it did, but he pretended, in the other’s company at the very least, that he had not seen them so befuddled by his response… he would have to find the means to approach… eugh… not _punishment_ but perhaps scolding them for their gawking.

He gives a huff at his inability to show his fury toward his followers’ insolence… at least for now, before a roll of his eyes paired with an unearthly growl that draws the trio to kick into gear, hurriedly returning their work with fear visible in their movements.

Hornet spies the faintest smirk crack its way across his face, and gives a firm clearing of her throat, “Our _deal…_ fair _King…_ ”

And a sigh leaves him, carried on the cusp of a chortle, shaking his head as fingers coil to tuck his cloak back neatly about himself

“I should suppose I should stop being quite so thrown when you do not follow as I should expect-- my lady” And there is a moment where he bows forward, that grin still firm knit in place.

And she could not find it in herself to be displeased that he was so quick to recover, of course he was, he was an ancient entity that had seen the world turn over its shell a thousand times over, and she was but starting into this by comparison.

She returned with a benign curtsy, humming her amusement as the man righted himself once more, the unnatural crimson eyes once more fixed on her as the left side of the tattered tent panel fell slack and the Grimmkin descended the ladder to get started on slicing a path up the right side.

“Then it is settled, a day spent in the other’s company as trade for the damages…”

His gaze never left hers, that burning heat of his stare hot with something otherworldly, that should she stare too long, she felt perhaps whatever it was could seep through into her being and consume her like embers to the dry brush.

But no fear sparked in it, no wariness… all but just that-- instead it drew forth a curiosity to stir.

Just what could make such a fiery light burn in another’s eyes like that.

He had spoken of his relation to… _her…_ and she supposed it explained itself, in that it denoted the tight connection between dreams and nightmares… but it did seed in her a want to do ill by that wretch of an entity and come to know her blood better than she herself could.

“And so it is settled--”

  
  


“To believe one could own so many intact tomes, it is marvelous to know it has been preserved!”

Hornet’s hands flitted over the spines of the books, eyes glittering with an elation the likes of which so few had seen in her, and fewer still alive to tell the tale of it. Her fascination with the lost art of bookbinding, or reproduction of these lost marvels of the past-- it was sparkling through her cold facade, this and… the last book she had in her possession had long since fallen to the bare pages, cover lost, bindings undone, and the pages tattered with how many times she had turned through their every word a hundred times over.

The books ranged from simply the history of the Kingdom of Hallownest to tales long since lost to the Ether, and books on medical history and its evolution-- books on arcane studies, the uses of common herbs, the anatomy of various species of bug down to the very tendons beneath their shells.

Oh, this was miraculous.

She turned her head, standing as high as the pedipalps of her feet would allow her to, “May I borrow one of your many books? I swear to it I will return it the moment I am through in reading it through--”

There was a rather ashen chortle, the god seated with knees neatly crossed, perched on a velveteen couch with an arm resting on the intricate arm of the furniture’s main body. “Have your choice of the many, my lady-- I shall hold you to your promise, you realize”

And a soft laugh found its way slipping from her, “I believe if you are to hold to an oath after all this time, I could trust you to hold to the oath of a borrowed book--” And she turned attention back to the shelf, a leg extending to her side as the heiress strained her reach to grasp the spine of a book reading no title.

Almost… come on… just a little higher…

she huffs and drops back to standing flat on the ground, glancing about for something to stand on, a stool, a crate-- anything of the sort.

Nothing-- dammit!

She supposed she could thank that to the man being so damnably tall.

Looking back to the rows of titleless books, she spied a hand reaching for her, grasping the cover and lowering it into her own grasp, to which she could do little other than huff… and of course take the book with a gentle winding of both of her hands about the offered tome.

“I believed you could use the assistance, princess--”

Again she huffed, turning her head, “I could have reached it myself--”

Her shell roiled with a quick passing itch over it at the pride driven statement that only seemed to amuse the taller entity.

“I am certain you could have, Miss Hornet--”

Again she turned her head, effectively sticking her helm up at the man’s teasing, “You know I believe should our business in the kingdom be completed before you are finished with that, I may have to ask for it back the day of our departure”

And she blinked her eyes open, turning round to the man, “I have been meaning to ask you on that--” Her tone had shifted from the nigh casual hum to something elevated back into cool diplomacy.

His brow arched, a smile still crookedly painting itself across the man’s face.

“Ask what, pray tell, my lady”

Her expression did not match the cool diplomacy, lowering it back to the casual hugging encounter between the two. Turning, she strode toward the furniture, opposite of where the man had last been sitting.

She hopped onto the sofa facing his last seated position, and “I desired to know why you had chosen Hallownest as the grounds of your visitation, certainly a dying kingdom is not worthy of your attention, and you could not be here but to relive old memories, no?” Eyes glance to the man, then returning to the book in her lap, crossing her ankles, and folding hands over the book’s cover to give the other her fullest attention.

Striding back to his place last seated, he abandons the formality of his posture to recline with legs crossed, head supported on a fist.

“You seek to know why we pulled your...” He pauses, eyes flitting upward toward the corner in thought, “I believe you refer to the shadow as your… sibling… yes?”

And she heeded his question with a nod, firm, but curiosity evident in her posture.

“Why we have pulled your sibling into assisting us in our goals, mm?” He waited for her nod again, opposite drumming with an idle roll of its fingers over his cloak draped leg. “To put it simply… we were summoned the very day they had ascertained the charm to which the Grimmchild--”

“Nymwae…”

He paused, eyes unblinking, a sternness to his stare-- shifting it to lock back with Hornet’s own.

“The child has been named, and their name is Nymwae… I would like if you respected as much”

Another moment clicked by, sighing a breath that rippled the air in a waft of heat she could feel the moment she saw it, the warm made faintly warmer by its exhale alone. “The charm to which...” His eyes flitted to hers again, seeming to clench his mandibles a moment in frustration before returning to his answer. “… _Nymwae_ … is bound to.”

And she blinked, “Your child was in their possession the moment they left your company...” She shook her head, “They are but a child, why would you put such responsibility on their shoulders--”

There was a wave of his hand, head shaking, lifting from his fist to uncoil the digits in a spin of his hand through the air, “That child then is in the hands of a shadow older than you or I, it will do no harm to allow it to take care of the child”

“They… are a child, a bug like you or I, Knight knows fear and joy as we do, and they are but a child-- and you tell me then, that you have given this responsibility to a child intentionally on your arrival, mm?”

His eyes again connected with hers, seeming to roll in agitation, a growl in his chest.

“We came here to complete work that has long since been overdue, the fact that the child that summoned us is no fault of mine-- they were to be the one we gave the charm to for sake of traditions long since older than this world has lived, and that has carried into the world before this one, and will carry on far longer than you could hope to know...” And he uncrossed his legs, sitting up a bit.

Her brow furrowed, “What do you mean by… _work_ , Grimm”

His arm again returned to draping now over the ornately carved backing of the couch he was seated on, “It is but a cleansing of the body, a purging of the old, and a welcoming of the new age to come. A new life for the troupe, so to say and a gathering of energy so that it may continue as such--” His eyes seemed to gleam with amusement, and she knew naught why, but the very shine to his eyes drew that frustration to well back behind her brow.

He was not telling the full truth, but he was not lying… she could feel as much-- gods, why did she even want to spend time with this man.

She was not that lonely--

~~Liar.~~

This was utterly ludicrous--

~~You wanted to spend time with him because you feel for him~~

No, she hadn’t.

~~Yes, you did… this is all to get closer to him.~~

No, it _wasn’t!_

And her shell began to itch and that chittering whirl of tension in her chest drew tight, as though she had something caught in her throat.

“Ah, but fear not, my lady-- the child is not to face any harm so long as things go according to plan”

And she could not help but frown at that.

According to plan… something that never happened if the world had its way with things.

A sigh, shaking her head, “You are not telling me the entire truth, but I cannot say that you are lying, Grimm--” To which she could hear him chuckle, laughing inwardly at the other’s response, her head dipped, eyes shutting as she shook her head, “If you are not to tell me the truth, I have no intent on knowing simple lies and twistings of the truth.”

And she cracked open the cover to the book, lifting it to flip to the first page and spying elegant and neat handwriting-- her eyes faintly widening with elation, ah, a traveler’s journal, perhaps this one would have stories of the world outside of this one, and far beyond the Howling Plains that closed these people within this place.

A glance lifted, catching a fleeting image of the other caught back in a state of contemplation, frustration staining the edges of his expression, and the very sight of it seemed to spike a pang of guilt in her own chest.

Wait… why did she feel… guilty.

~~The man had broken that illusion you kept for yourself all these centuries, Hornet…~~

Quick, as his own gaze turned to meet back with hers, she flitted stare back to this traveler’s journal.

~~And this is how you repay him… with insults…~~

Her eyes scanned the page, taking in the information as best she could without paying heed to the nagging voice of her own mind tearing at her for this failure in coming to know the other closer-- wait… closer…?

She was not attempting to know the man closer… this was but a means to learn the means of his reasoning for staying in this kingdom.

She could feel flustered heat paint its path over the shell of her face, just beneath her eyes and a soft crimson with a hand lifting to scrub at her face, shaking her head again, eyes pinched shut.

“Is something the matter, Lady Hornet...”

Her eyes snapped open, lifting her head to stare at the other, his expression read that of curiosity, the sort in which you could perhaps catch a bug trilling their fascination away; a brow arched, knees crossed once more, reclined a bit as he had been before.

“N-No...” Dammit.

His head gave a subtle cant to the side, blinking as though he were confused, “It should seem that something most certainly does bother you, my lady. Does a journal of such truly bring such color to your face?”

And she again shook her head, quick, “No, it is-- it is not that, it is-- ah…” What was it, what was it, come on Hornet, find a lie that won’t make your shell burn with that damnable itch. “--nothing, Troupe Master”

And her shell seemed to crawl with an itch all along the center of her back.

She expected him to laugh, to chuckle at her, to find amusement, and yet he only seemed to find confusion, was it possible for a being of Soul and Void to lie? Certainly, there must be a manner of repercussion for such a thing… right?

Bury your attention back within the book, Hornet, before he can strive to ask on it any further, or you can notice the amused chortle that flitted from him--

“You certainly are an intriguing being, my lady”

And she paused, head lifting, “What do you mean…”

“I mean… that of the Higher Beings I have known, you are the first to amuse me as such, our company held has been something rather… pleasing, if I may so dare to say.”

Silence fell next to blanket the room, Hornet felt this shock sit in her chest, what was she to say at such a comment. Was there anything she could really even _say_ at such a comment? Even if there were something of those likes, she was fairly certain she would find herself too befuddled to respond.

It was enough that she could not catch the subtle smile that flitted into place across her expression.

“I suppose then… I could say the same, my lord.”

It should seem then, in that split second of a moment, Grimm too seemed just as befuddled by her comment, those otherworldly burning eyes wide for a moment and shoulders faintly more slack.

Again her attention dipped to the book, lingering there and scouring the page for the place she had last been, only to give a shake of her head and turn attention to the head of the page. This tome began its journeys telling on the tails of some strange and foreign land of Sun’s Aerie-- a land in which the Radiance had been celebrated before they had all fallen to her illness and crumbled… or so she had heard of the stories her father had given.

Turning the page, there was a sketch, something detailed and yet… depicting a strange white orb detailed over the page nestled in a dark background, with spotted lights in the dark.

She had seen this before… this was just as it had been in her dream.

The one that ensnared her every night and guarded her against the Radiance, or so she liked to think.

Eyes flitted to the date on the page, dammit the corner had been eaten away by the sheer age of this book. Perhaps even Grimm’s magic could only preserve something to a certain degree.

But the words beneath it, _‘_ _The moon is beautiful this night… I believe I can even see Jericho in its glow’._

And she hummed in thought, “What is… the _moon…_? And for that matter what is… _Jericho…_ ” Her head lifted, spying a fond expression passing across the other’s face, attention shifting to the grey space between the far wall and her being perched on the sofa.

He chortled soft, “The moon… is as the Radiance was, a source of light to befall the land in the Void’s hour over the sky, it has long since been hidden by this eternal storm passing over our heads.” His voice almost seemed reminiscent of a time long since lost. “As for Jericho… it is a city that was said to be lost to the word, the city of the moon. For me, it was a nickname then for your father that no one… save for now you… knew”

Her gaze shifted, deep in thought as the man exhaled a long and low breath, again warming the room.

Jericho… hmm.

“I’m… sorry.”

Her head lifted, “Pardon?”

His eyes did not meet hers, as though straining to grit these words through his lips, “You have my… apologies...” And he drew in a taut breath, brow furrowing before he exhaled it in a rough rush, “I cannot tell you the cause of our reason to be within this kingdom… not without proper trust given first…”

And she remained silent, so it was a matter of trust… not deceit and pride.

“And for that… you have my… apologies, I meant not to draw insult, nor frustrate in a time where you are in my company, my lady”

She could find nothing to say in that next moment passed, little more than-- “Thank you…” His own head lifted, turning back to make eye contact with her. “...for your honesty… thank you”

And she could swear in that moment she could spy a flush of color ghost on the man’s face before he rose with his usual grace to stand at full height-- moving, she could only think, to leave.

“Wait”

And he froze, back turned to her.

“Don’t leave… please...”

He remained still, exhaling long and slow.

“Please, come back… sit, this day has been… nice”

And he exhaled that same deep sigh, shoulders slackening and head rolling on his shoulders as though to loosen tension again before he turned back round, face no longer dusted with that subtle crimson hue.

He moved to step toward his last seated position but she shook her head, catching his attention, and watching her scoot over, hand leaving the journal’s pages to gently pat at the couch beside her. And it was a moment, where he stood stock still, before at last stepping nearer and seating himself on the same couch she had perched herself on.

Excellent…

  
  


The hours flitted by with a comfortable warmth to them, or at least… Grimm quite believed so, he himself having risen to fetch himself a book from the shelves.

Stars, what time was it… he could no longer feel the cool breeze of the planes outside sneaking through into his private quarters. Certainly with that said it must be well into the evening hours, perhaps the sun had set?

A breath and he exhaled long and low, and he moved to stretch but paused, a weight against him catching his attention as Brumm’s form entered the corner of his vision.

“Master, the repairs to the tent have been complete-- oh, I apologize, sir. I did not realize she was still in your company”

And he blinked, looking to the weight slumped against his side, she had been so enraptured in the journal, she had moved to make herself comfortable, leaning against him to both find means to get under his shell and bother him, and to stretch her legs--

But she had long since fallen still.

It seemed in that time she had fallen asleep leaned to his side.

“It is alright, Brumm… thank you for alerting me, you are dismissed”

And a moment ticked by, an arm shifting to slip beneath the breadth of the other’s back and beneath the bend of her knees, turning and moving to lift the sleeping huntress. To which, there was no stir of her form, hand falling to hang and the book still open on her lap.

“Would you like me to carry her home, Master”

And Grimm gave a subtle shake of his head, no she would wake with such a jostling. “I will endeavor to take her back to her home, I believe it is just up the way”

“As you wish, sire”


	10. Blood of the Covenant

There was a saying that had long since run its history through the world before this one, one that many butchered for their own liking, to keep control of their relatives, or to bring strength to a dying family…

 _Blood is thicker than water_ as it went.

But this was not the case that Grimm feared… he could see the swelling bond forming between the child… no, what had their name been… between Nymwae… and the shadow born siblings. He knew duty would bind the child to what was needed, follow the little shade wherever they went, and he knew eventually it would bring them back to his side.

And he knew they would have no choice but to obey by compulsion from the Nightmare Heart’s ringing pulse in their helm…

But they knew what would come as well.

Blood of the _covenant…_ is thicker than water of the womb…

He could feel, in his very being, watching the child flit by-- gazing on through the scarlet flames gathered, and the shadows surrounding the depths of the underground ruins, and recognize the strength of the bond between the little shadow and their newfound ward.

The speed at which the child tore into battle to rend all who should have lain a hand on the little knight… the fire in their eyes throughout, but what had him most concerned as to which end should come of the ritual yet to take place and the rejuvenation of his body, mind transferred then to the child to repeat the cycle as he had a thousand times before, and as he would a thousand times more…

The joy in their actions--

He could recall the youth of this body’s stages of fledgling growth, the one to summon this child into being had been callous, striking back the hatchling at any moment they drew too near. The disgust in the warrior’s expression, the cold cruelty of it…

It was how it had gone for many-- no, _all_ of the rituals he had last performed for his every new vessel.

And for this… for the child to be named, to be (dare he say it) loved… to know a genuine childhood.

Would it naught taint the child and make it harder for him to take over with this body destroyed… it had never happened before, so he had...nothing to quite equate this event from. Would it be harder, would it be easier… would the heartbreak of this lost life and happiness tear at him…?

Emotions always lingered within his vessels, swayed his decisions-- and he dreaded having to find the means to force out the aching loneliness that could come of this encounter and this… attachment.

Fingers drummed idly over the sculpted wooden arm of his favored chair, crimson eyes staring into the amber flames of the hearth before him, head propped on the opposite fist.

Was this really even something to bother himself over.

He had to be overthinking this…

One could almost laughably call this some semblance of anxiety welling in his gut, the spark of a could be fear of some downfall to come-- and yes… he had to admit, it felt similar… tasted of fear’s first glimmering embers-- but with a grind of his palm to the dying sparks, it was quick to extinguish in himself.

There was no room for such a mortal weakness…

Not this far into his life…

Nor would he allow it this far into the ritual.

Get a hold of yourself, Grimm… there had to be a means to test the waters of this bond, oversee it and decide as to whether or not it should need to be cut like the string in the hands of the fates themselves--

Hmm…

And fingers stopped their idle drum, _oversee_.

Now there was an idea--

Opposite hand propping his head on its side shifted, head lifting and hands grasping the arms of the chair to press to his full height, a wave of his hand and orange flames bloomed to crimson and swallowed themselves wholly in a fiery plume-- extinguishing their warmth as his form turned attention toward the exit of his private quarters.

Perhaps it was time he paid a visit to view the care of his child.

  
  


The growth spurts had not stopped for the little hatchling, much to Hornet’s surprise, and it left her wondering if perhaps this dear little bug would end up outgrowing their father. It was almost amusing to see this silver shelled child fly about the hut to perch only for their size to have so rapidly changed that the poor child managed to find themselves clipping into the walls in hard bumping thunks of shell to stone.

Most times it lead to their form falling through the air to plummet into Hornet’s grasp, or to be caught by the little knight. Though they did tend to flit about in skittering sprints back and forth, arms outstretched before their now larger ward fell into their arms and brought them to a hard stumble.

It was strange, this growth spurt only ever seemed to happen whenever Hornet was away on her rounds, buried away in the earth and searching now for-- yes, someone to be perhaps a survivor tucked away all these years, but for a danger that might just threaten the survivors that still remain.

As in… whenever Hornet had her back turned…

And it left her with the mess of cleaning up the shed shells-- which funnily enough seemed to be getting more and more red-tinged with every shed.

Much to Nymwae’s delight-- and something on the edge of Hornet’s dismay…

She could only hope this deliberate interference and upbringing was affecting them in a means that would make it so they didn’t turn out like him… though… perhaps being somewhat like him wouldn’t be terribly offensive, the man did have a fire to his eyes that was almost alluring--

Wait…

Hold on-- what was she even thinking--!

Oh, get a hold of yourself, Hornet.

As she thumped the heel of her palm to her brow and shook her head, opposite hand balancing her needle on her lap with a steady grip, before returning the hand clutching the polishing cloth over to the blade of the needle and carefully running it along its surface.

She needed to find where she had last hidden her whetstone, the point to her needle’s edge was starting to lose its razor honing, and she could think perhaps this day she could find the time to head out and seek it somewhere within the confines of the Queen’s Gardens.

But with the sound of approaching footsteps running toward the hut, she supposed the knight and the little charm bound child the two had welcomed into their slow but tight-knit growing family were returning from their latest trip down into the underground--

It was silly, she had tread to the Kingdom’s Edge with the knight following her every movement, and took out her blade, to duel the little shadow for the right to the mark beyond within the confines of the Wyrm’s corpse.

The surprise in their body language had been something to pester her for the last few days to pass, but the resolve that had taken its place only drew a welling pride to sit beneath her own resolve settling into place.

Needless to say, she had not been able to defeat them, and it only fed the embers to the pride in her chest despite the wound to her ego at the defeat of but a child. Their fire deep in their being was roaring and vibrant despite its pitch origins and black flames-- truly worthy of the King’s Brand, as any child of his would be.

The footsteps outside drew to a stop, scuffling a moment as though someone had called their attention or for the very least of it, caught their attention.

Perhaps the Elderbug, perhaps the bug girl, what was her name-- Bridgetta? Bridgette? Ah, something on the lines… or that cocky bug she had encountered many times before-- Tiso, was it?

But with a glance out the window she blinked, the glint of tattered wings and their shifting crimson glow in the dark of the morning hours outside the hut, it was peculiar… to say the least.

Standing and sheathing the needle on her back with a last wipe of the cloth over its surface and neatly setting aside the cloth on her bedside table, and strode to the door, opening it to peer out with confusion clearly painted over her helm.

The elated trill of Nymwae split the quiet, his child headbutting into the man’s shoulder and earning a subtle chuckle from him, a hand lifting to gently cup their face with the sharp tips of his claws as though admiring the fragile jewel of some arcane origin too delicate for touch.

There was a far more ashen noise returned; unearthly and rolling, husky in its tone and something that drew the silver shelled child to flutter their wings with a fervor, elation evident in the smile painting their shell and the tight pinch of their eyes fallen shut.

“It would seem you have quite made their day, troupe master”

Her tone, humming with mild and teasing mirth caught his attention, eyes shifting round to lock stares before a subtle smile quirked into place over his own face, and glanced back to the knight’s ward, currently but a few inches from their father’s side, much to the knight’s displeasure.

Seems the little shadow still had a lingering fear of the man.

Enough that Hornet could spy the tremor coming into place and their shoulders tensing.

Legs moved before she could think on her actions, carrying her nearer to her sibling’s side, and a hand meeting with the top of their helm, causing them to jump if only faintly but dulling the tremor wracking their form.

“To what do we owe the honor of a visit, troupe master”

His arms remained poised as they were, cupping to the child’s face, and even running palm smoothly over their shell to pet their head almost… lovingly-- while the opposite held neatly tucked behind his back, “I suppose I should say I sought the curious need to see the wellbeing of…” And he paused, eyes flitting to Hornet. “Nymwae…”

There is a spark of boastful pride that wells in her chest, carapace swelling warm with this fluff to the frills of her ego. He had listened to what she had said and hadn’t simply thrown the information aside.

But beyond this humming wafted wash of nigh smug leaning pride, she couldn’t help but feel a small curious lilt take the hand of her attention, was he really here for such an affectionate and fatherly triviality?

For a man so ready to claw into his subjects, gnash teeth over the throats of those that disobeyed him, and eagerly rend into anyone that stood in his path… the sight before her stirred memories of a man in white and the child in slate grey robes.

Was he really here to give such attention to the child, or was he simply overseeing the state of his perfect and unshakable vessel-- no… no Hornet, they were not a vessel, they were his child.

~~So were they…~~

They were anything but hollow-- there was no way the child could be a vessel for the man’s purposes, that of which she still had not deciphered from his cryptic description the other day.

~~Liar.~~

Breath shook a moment a tremendous and washing wave of anger spilled into her chest, faint, and she had hoped no one would catch its presence, but the upward glance from the knight at her side marked that the welling fury at the concept of such a heinous act repeated… had not gone unnoticed.

No… there was no evil to seal, there was no Higher Being to close away within mortal binds.

He had said this was but a means to rejuvenate… this was a man too caught within the workings of his cirque and seeking to have the care of his child overseen by another…

~~He sealed them in a charm…~~

It had to have been for their safety…

~~You have no idea how long they were trapped there…~~

But the joy on Nymwae’s face, it couldn’t have been long, could it?

“I do suppose you are appeased then? We were going to travel through the ruins to the Kingdom’s Edge, the pair of these two sought to travel into the Hive after they had found an entrance to the grounds on today’s eve-- is there any reason you would seek to follow along on our journey?” Her head canted to the side a bit, testing the waters of just what the man intended with this visit.

She had never seen the man leave the confines of the main tent without some reason for his little excursions. Such as hunting for her companionship for the day, or perhaps the damage to the tent as had been proven the days prior-- but certainly, he wouldn’t--

“I believe that sounds like a wonderful idea…”

And she blinked, confusion now washing it’s bubbled grasp over her as the man’s hand at last lowered to tuck back away beneath his cloak and winding its dark and near pitch grey to tuck back about his lithe form.

He… would come along…?

“I suppose it makes sense, if you are to oversee our care of Nymwae, then you should see us on a journey with them at our side, yes?” To which Grimm gave a subtle tilt of his head, a nod to confirm his logic on the situation.

“But of course, how else am I to assess my child’s care, mm?”

There was a subtle chuff from Hornet, something hugging on the edge of laughter, but not quite. Her hand slid from the knight’s helm with a slow exhale, “I do hope you are able to keep up then, Grimm”

And with a huff and a grandiose turn of his head, to feign his offense, that ashen voice gave its best rasping attempt to seem insulted, “Madam, you wound me, I should say the same should be said of you, huntress”

Extending a hand, an actual laugh flitted from her, giggling and short but enough that it added a certain air to her as Nymwae’s attention flitted to her and she then found her own hand being forcibly nestled against with subtle churring trills.

“Come then, the stagway is open in the City of Tears, the trip thereafter should be expedient”

As the grimmchild turned attention to grasp onto the huntress’ arm and dangle upside-down as though roosting or the night, a little laugh flitting from them, one that called attention from the little knight who took to tugging at the hem of Hornet’s cloak.

Ah, they were a bit heavier, but nothing more than a bit of weight training in the right mindset.

Arm extended, and with a little hop, the knight dangled from Hornet’s arm with a little swing of their feet, had they a voice she would have almost sworn they would have giggled like the child they were.

But with a gentle curl of her arms, the two seemed to act on the motion and let go of the huntress's arms, seemingly before she could give a spin or a harder fling to see how fast the two could catch themselves in the air before their landing might send them spinning over the compacted earth.

A pleased ‘hmph’ and there was a curt nod of her head, and the trio set off toward the far set station across town.

With a glance back toward the man, she couldn’t help but notice the look on his face; concern… something hugging it at least, and dare she say it, reluctance.

But when eyes met, she said nothing, and instead beckoned him along with that silent stare of pitch eyes met with crimson.

And before a breath could be missed, his steps swayed into motion and the space between them seemed to close in but moments.

  
  


Alright, so it had taken two trips via the stagway to get to the station in the far reaches of the City of Tears-- there had been a jest of the man carrying her in his lap the ride there, but the way her shell had gone flush with her pitch ichor, the grey blush all telling beyond her floundering “outrage” at such a suggestion.

Completed with an irate stamp of her foot, a crossing of her arms, and a turn round with a self-righteous ‘hmph!’ to punctuate her “tantrum”. But it only seemed to draw a chuckle from the old stag and the towering Higher Being at her side and little help in proving her frustration as genuine.

The trip beyond, down and through the halls of the drenched city, and its crystal clear rain, or the remainder of the trip, had been something uneventful, save for a game of tag played by the knight and Nymwae darting through the rainy weather and Grimm shielding his head with a wave of crimson smoke clouds that seemed to turn the rain to vapor before it could hope to make contact.

It was almost amusing to see the lot of them; the huntress, the little shadow, the charm bound child of a god, and the god behind the binding himself… staggeringly powerful entities on some journey that perhaps could have been seen as worthy of some grand tale, and then… Hornet…

~~Do you really believe you could compare to them, runt?~~

No… she supposed not, but she knew she could at the very least sit in their company.

~~Do you believe you even deserve _that?_ ~~

Her head lifted when an elbow nudges her side, jolting her from her thoughts, now sat on the tram bench with the Nightmare King seated beside her. Her head turned with a confused glance to his arm, and then looking back up to him, what ever had that been for.

But she made no move to ask on the matter, instead shifting attention to the two flitting about the tram car with their intent to catch the other in their yet to end game of tag still carrying on, despite the fast approaching end of their car ride to the Kingdom’s Edge.

The hiss of the brakes kicking into gear drew Hornet’s hand to grasp for something, anything to hold onto, only to find the warm hand of the other to clasp on her shoulder to hold her still before she could topple to the side and land with a hard thump on the cool steel of the floor.

Her hand instinctively grasped for his forearm, a soft squeak of surprise at just how quick the gears had taken to slowing the car-- it can’t have been that long ago that she had last ridden this tram. She could remember taking this to the far reaching end of Deepnest and-- no… no, the brakes had always been this dreadful.

A trade-off of such public transport she supposed?

She waited for the man to shove her hand away once the car had slowed, but he paid little mind to it, carefully releasing her shoulder, and she could only feel the confusion bubble up within her carapace.

Why had he not… cut off contact immediately.

Standing, she stepped toward the doorway, releasing her own grasp on the god’s arm, and watched as the two that had been unfettered by the tram’s slowing bounded for the door despite Nymwae’s earlier thump to the back of the car on takeoff.

There was a high squalling noise from the winged child, and a wave from the knight as the two raced off, waving their goodbyes before vanishing out of view.

Grimm, to the sight of this departure, glanced to Hornet with an arched brow. “So quick to let them race away, my lady?”

She chuckled low, “Nymwae has grown quite powerful in the last few cycles to pass, if they should encounter danger, I am certain they will know the capacity to swiftly dispatch it, or little Knight will do so before any harm could come to them.”

Her eyes flitted to the man’s own from her place striding from the car’s doorway, “If I cannot strike them down, I doubt any entity within this kingdom could do just that”

There was a semblance of pride to her words, boastful-- but not of herself, speaking only truth of her sibling’s capabilities as a warrior.

“And they intend to head into the Hive, yes…? What should come of it if they should require our assistance?”

Her head turned round toward the path ahead, head held high and shoulders set with a deigned certainty to her stride. “They promised me they would call for us, but I have yet to hear such a distressed wail from them yet, and I have struck for their very core and not once come close to striking them down.”

Pitch eyes scoured the grounds before her, looking to the skies above her and unwinding silk from the spun skein at her side, seeking a distinct path through into the towering and fractured platforms that lined the skies above them.

“I am uncertain even you could take them down, troupe master”

And with a darting throw of the silk’s end, her form soared through the air with pristine grace as though weight carried no grasp on her.

“And where are you heading to, then”

Standing atop the platform, she looked down to the man’s form, watching him uncoil the cloak about his form and bound into the air to allow his very wings to carry him instead.

She turned attention back to the skies--

“I want to pay respects…”

  
  


The footfalls silenced by the ash, the very way they imprinted tin it could almost be mistaken as snow, but this grim weight to the air, it was anything but… but… there was always this semblance of hesitance every time she came to this place, something moreso weighing on her now to know the tremendous monument of her father’s godliness lain to little more than crumbling ash.

To stare it down… hurt.

To remember his kindness, his love, his faults, and his glory… to see that crown of horns lain on its side, telling the story of the monumental entity he had once been before this lie latest past, it ached for her.

She could only imagine the agony that Grimm could be enduring to have known the man when he himself was at his weakest and know kindness from an entity that could have so easily rended him from his shell.

Reaching beneath her cloak, her hand closed about the stem of a delicate flower, twirling it gently in her fingers as the snowy scenery of ash surrounding them fluttered on, stepping nearer toward the collapsed husk of the god that had been, the surrounding ash marked her pinprick fine steps’ every stride.

It wasn’t much… but it was something she had known the man to adore.

And it was a moment, before then her hand met with the towering entity’s crown tine, the opposite again spinning the flower by its stem, looking to it, and a subtle but melancholy smile painting its path over her face.

Kneeling, she pressed the flower briefly to her brow and laid it on its side before the crumbling husk.

“You miss him...”

Her head turned, meeting stares with the man cloaked in crimson and charcoal wins, seeming to shield himself from the subtle chill of this place.

And she gave a chuff of laughter, “Of course I do… he was far from a perfect man, but he was my father, and the King to this civilization as we knew it, and as many still consider he is the only King this world surrounding us will ever know.”

Grimm himself seemed to close his eyes, chortling at the comment, “He did many foolish things… but I must agree he did many great things…”

Foolish, she had to chuckle at the term, she’d never heard anyone have the gall to use the word on her father, never daring enough to slander his name for fear of the repercussions to come even in his death. Though she knew he himself would have just laughed at such a comment and sent them off with a wave of his hand-- he knew he was imperfect, he was anything but blind to this.

But he had been blind to many things he had done… or, at least that was what Hornet saw of what he did in his later years.

He had to have had a reason… he had to have… this never could have succeeded, but… to know it had lasted as long as it had, it filled her with an odd sense of pride for her father’s genius.

“You knew him better than I… certainly this grave must be agony to see so close.”

He didn’t answer, stepping nearer and gazing at the crumbled corpse of a god beyond the crown’s maw.

“You knew him as I knew him… yes, I knew him _longer…_ but I see much of what he was in the Kingdom’s ruins, as I see much of his fire as I see in you, my lady” And she couldn’t help but shift stare from the man to gaze up with a forlorn sort of ache mounting in her chest.

Much of his fire, hmm…

~~That’s laughable.~~

“You should not allow such negative emotion to well within you, my lady…”

Her head jolted down, flitting round with a spin to stare at the other.

He… knew?

“You… how did you...”

“I’m attuned to all semblances of negative emotions… hate, agony, fear, pain… I feel much of all among this spectrum coming from you at many hours of the day. It reminds me much of him when he was young… before he came to trust me”

She remained silent, how did one even respond to something like this.

How many times had he known she had been so full of loathing for herself, how many times had he known the rage that burned at her image of herself.

“You care for them… don’t you”

Blinking in confusion for the moment then missed, and realization struck.

“Nymwae…”

To which he gave a subtle nod of his head, eyes fallen shut.

“Of course… I care for them as I care for my sibling… you entrusted their care to them, therefore you entrusted their care to me as well. It would be foolish of me not to find the means to come to care for them… why is it you ask.”

He seemed to pause, drawing in a long and low breath, exhaling it with a warmth that shook the very cool air surrounding him.

“Do you trust me… Hornet…”

Again confusion wracked her form, what did he mean by that, did she trust him. She had slept at his side-- albeit by complete accident, but for her to find the peace to sleep as such took an astounding sense of trust to know she would not awaken in a semblance of danger or with a threat somewhere near her.

“Yes”

He drew in a second breath and pressed open those shocking hues, turning round with a whirling brush of the wind that sent his cloak of wings fluttering about his form in subtle flickering flicks-- in a way she could almost compare to flames in a hearth.

“I’m afraid… when I explained what was to come, the reason why my troupe and I are here… why I am here… was not the full truth.”

Her brows furrowed, “What do you mean”

It was not a question, anything but, too firm and demanding in tone to be something quizzical in tone.

“Allow me to explain.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is going to continue into the next chapter 'Dark Deed's Purpose', don't worry, this isn't going to be a time skip, this is time for some mild angst, loves--
> 
> Some of you said the last chapter was not to be trusted for its fluffy nature, you were correct in your assumptions


	11. Dark Deed's Purpose

Allow me to explain, explain what… what did he have to say on the matter of his spoken truth, she had been able to tell before that it had not been the full truth, but for the man to so openly give in to the fact that he had not been wholly honest was… for lack of a better word, bizarre.

Not to say that the man was so willing to give information, yes that was odd _—_ but, for him to admit… to her no less, that he had fault… it felt alien.

Perhaps it was due to the standard she forced herself to, the very marks of their battle that had taken place, burns, and the scars of slashing claws _—_ all marked failure or her… varying degrees but all failure that could then lead to her death were she not careful.

She couldn’t grasp to her own faults to embrace them… she had buried them away too long to try and be the entity of legend as the world saw her.

So for this man… this god to admit he had not given the truth _—_

That he had been caught and so openly admitted it, by her definition of the word…

 _Failed_.

It felt surreal.

“Go on then… explain your reasons for your being in this kingdom’s ruins”

Oh, she wanted to know _—_ ached to have this long seated itch sated, but there was a part of her that didn’t. The concept of then having a reason to push him away, to force him back to the comfortable distance and tear back up the walls of an icy personality _—_ bury herself back away from the only entity that might be there forever.

That might be there should she need him…

The idea daunted her and she… couldn’t say she liked the idea of such loneliness.

In all rights of the word, it had her angry, but for the reason of how soft she felt she had become, how pliable to let another’s actions slide simply because it would save her of the ache of isolation-- she had been alone for centuries, what was so different about it now.

Why did the concept of it mount that grinding fire of frustration to settle behind the brow of her helm, and prick tears at the corners of her eyes from its intensity _—_ quick to blink away, but the fact they were there in the first place stung to her pride.

What had the other’s company done to her.

“When I spoke on the purpose of our residence within Dirtmouth’s fringes, it was not a lie… that you know, I see it in your eyes. But the whole truth of it… I see the close bond of the knight and your own person to my child...”

Her head nodded in a nigh robotic manner, but it could have been mistaken as a curt impatience.

“Higher Beings of old, such as your father, or my sister… were not born of this world and in coming into this plane, needed a body to inhabit _—_ but no corporeal form could have ever been intended to contain a god.”

No… no, she didn’t like this.

“I am among the beings that require a body to contain them… should I desire to walk among this plane and live among the mortal bugs and their ever-changing kind as I have for the centuries _—_ no… _millennia_ passed.”

She was the anomaly, wasn’t she, she had been born with a corporeal body, was she even to be considered a Higher Being— of mortal blood and that of the Void and Soul.

“Then what you mean to tell me… is that you brought your child into being--”

Memories flashed before her eyes, glinting to a world long since lost.

_Glimmering silver skies hummed with the soft serenity of the day, the lithe form of the King himself drifting round the corner, a hand low to the ground and on the back of a short-statured form-- coaxing them along as though without his guidance the figure would fall still._

“ _Hornet, I have someone I would like you to meet”_

_Her head lifted, turning round from the plush pillbug doll of hers, neatly setting it down in the little chair she had designated to be its, carefully righting it to sit up straight before hopping from her own chair and toddling across the room with a giddiness to her stride._

“ _D_ _addy,_ _daddy! Did you bring me a friend?”_

_A chuckle flitted from the man, almost airy, removing his hand from the figure’s back to lean forward, curling nearer to almost seem to lower himself to his daughter’s eye level.”I suppose you could call them as much, my child”_

“You brought them into being…”

A sharp and humorless laugh flitted from her, almost barked, eyes losing the majority of their warmth _—_ fast enough that you could almost see it bleed from her face in the passing seconds.

“… to be your _vessel_?”

_The howling scream of agony rang through the air, one would think such a cry would be muffled by the stone walls of the tremendous egg-like shrine that housed the wailing entity far within._

_And yet the shrill screeching wail cut through the air and stabbed into her shell with such an intensity, she forced her hands to clutch over the sides of her helm, eyes pinching shut and praying this agony would not drive her to bend the crown about her horns._

_No, no, this was wrong—_

“ _Let them out! You’re hurting them!”_

_Burning tears welled in her eyes— oh let it end…!_

_Her head had whipped round, locking onto her father, whom had already torn past his guards, born of his own creation, hands meeting with the sweltering hot stone, the look of horror and grief painting its path along his usually benign and collected visage._

“ _I can’t, I— the Dreamers are already within their slumber, I cannot undo the door’s sealing without releasing her— they were perfect, this cannot be, they were not made to feel agony like this”_

_His words spilled from in flitting and hushed tones, as though so baffled by this terribly howling scream that his thoughts forced their way past his lips and spilled into the cool air as it drew far warmer._

“ _You were wrong, you were wrong! They could always feel joy and emotion, how could you do this—!”_

_The words left her in a spilling wave as pitch tears spilled down her cheeks and fell to the ground, narrowly avoiding the intricate patterns of her dress to plink on the icy stone._

_And then as fast as that scream had split into being, a perfect silence swallowed it up._

_And the true horror of what they had done finally struck down with its fiery blade’s edge._

Her eyes pinched tight shut, fury mounting behind her brow.

“You _bastard_ _—_!”

She didn’t know when her hand had moved to clutch for her needle’s handle, tearing it free and holding it with a staggeringly tight grip that drew the shell of her hand to creak from the sheer force of it.

Grimm’s expression did not shift, as though expecting this broiling hate to rear its head, no semblance of pain in his eyes, but a glint of something else flitting past into his visage and then in the same moment vanishing beneath the cool and collected mask he always seemed to bear.

The very mask she had only begun to peer beneath and see the true warmth of that fire within his gaze, only to watch those flames go cool in touch once more with her own mounting rage.

How many lives had he lived since she had last seen him, how many mortal lives had he stamped down or his own self righteous purpose _—_

How many worlds had he crushed so that his own could continue on this plane…

“You misunderstand, Lady Hornet _—_ ”

And she snapped, barking her words with a furious bite to her tone and the tight cut to how they fell from her, “I do not misunderstand what you do, you preserve yourself and your life at the cost of hundreds of others _—_ just as he did, and just as I have done _—_ you inexcusable _bastard”_

She was no better for what she had done, and she knew it _—_ she had run and she had pushed this kingdom into its ruin, she loathed her very being for such a crime, for such a nightmarish and disgusting act upon this kingdom’s people.

She had brought the fall of two Kingdoms, of Hallownest and the people of Deepnest _—_

All for her own damnable fear of failure and her incapability to face the truth of what was going to come of this sealing of the god within the kingdom’s lone artifact still intact from the days of the King’s reign.

She was no better _—_

She knew she wasn’t _—_

But her deed was centuries past, and he… he had not stopped his cycle of consuming the lives of the innocent.

And he intended to swallow up Nymwae’s life in that same cycle… crush their being beneath the weight of his own will and damn them to an existence of isolation beneath this caging shell then mounted over their own.

She wanted to lunge, she wanted to charge him down, to leap _—_ that was her family, _hers!_ How could he even think _—_

“You misunderstand my say in this act, Lady Hornet…”

His words repeated to her drew her to shake her head, eyes pressing open to show the icy fury burning in her sockets.

“You lie _—_ ”

“I do not, the ritual is already in effect-- I could not stop this should I even have wanted to do as much”

He could have stopped it before, he could have stopped himself before he had given the knight the charm, he could have tried _—_ he knew what he was becoming, he _knew!_

“ _What ritual_ _—_ ” She spat the words with a stark and burning venom, sneering at the man and fighting every inch of her that wanted to lunge for him _—_ she knew what would happen if she did, she would either go for the kill, or herself fall to the floor and be lain to little more than a corpse in the ash.

“The ritual I told you of in our last day spent together… of rebirth and renewal…”

His words repeated back within the confines of her helm, the icy stare unfaltering but the seething fury dulling itself by her own forcing hand. Think, Hornet, you must think _—_ don’t be a damned brute and leap before you have the full truth.

“I am no longer in control as to whether or not I should obtain a new vessel…”

And she frowned, the confusion washing over her fury and the two emotions bowing and pressing to one another in clashing waves, demanding control over the next, faltering and surmounting, dipping and then rushing on high to crash back over the other.

What did he mean.

“What meaning have you in such a claim, that you lack control over your own ritual _—_ _”_

And his head shook, eyes drawing shut and untucking arms from beneath his cloak, as though waiting for her to lunge for him, certain she would dive forward and lash out her fury at daring such a horror or having the gall to admit his hand in this act.

“I have long since been without the control over what should come of this ritual, princess” His tone caught her by the throat, clutching and tight by the hard knot pitting itself above the collar of her cloak.

Hornet…

There was no stirring itch or aching fire beneath her shell, nothing to indicate he held any falsehood within his words _—_ and it hurt to admit it… but the truth of it scared her.

“What… what do you mean...”

Her grip on her needle loosened, stance still taut and ready to lunge should she lose grip on her will.

And he strode nearer, stepping with an unshaken confidence to his approach.

Hornet herself took a backward step, and then another, back bumping into the tines of the tremendous cast of shell’s gaping maw _—_ her head spun round looking briefly to the thorn-like tines and how they froze her in place. Even now, her father’s presence reused to let her back away from the challenges set before her.

Be it even her own want to accept the truth…

With the soft scuff of steps suddenly so near, her head spun back around, watching the towering man come to a halt before her, own expression taut with the quiet and yet burning fury bubbling deep in her chest.

“What I mean… Hornet… is that when I gave your sibling the control over my child, my control in this matter left my hands and went into the grasp of your shadow born knight, whose fondness they receive from you eludes me still… but I digress”

And her rage flared at the concept of pushing such a power into the hands of the child shadow that had taken an unmoving seat within Hornet’s tight-knit circle of a far dwindled family and trusted others.

But it dulled… and plummeted when she realized she had done just the same thing… not with one life but with countless lives within this dwindling kingdom.

But she had tested the child and their strength, she had rescued them from the could have been fate… but…

But…

She was no better.

“What do you mean you no longer have control in your ritual.”

And he gave little shift in his attention, gaze seeming locked on her, waiting for some means of her to lash out, to scream and slash him a new wound, no semblance of guard to his stance, and yet… it was almost like he trusted her _—_ no, certainly not, he simply knew he could dodge her attacks with ease.

Crimson eyes shifted to the side, watching the trailing ash carry itself on the cool winds, seeming to think a moment… searching for some means to push his falsity on her perhaps… but there was a shift to his gaze.

No, he did not look back to her for a moment, head turning and the expression within his gaze seeming to turn its facet to a different emotion’s light, something less unearthly… less cruel in design to match something almost…

Mortal.

Something… that she could almost swear she had seen in the knight’s expressions behind that unmoving helm’s face, within the dark void of their sockets. A gentile and yet collected recognition of what had set itself in their path… a readiness for a fate, and yet a knowing sense that there could be no other choice but to fight as though his very life depended on it.

That mortal sense of will to be _—_

And in the next moment, it was gone to be buried back beneath his ever set mask _—_

No, no… come back _—_ don’t hide what you carry under your facade, _come back_ _—_!

“I mean… the knight knows what comes next. We dueled-- in a time of which you had stolen away within the kingdom’s ruins… an exquisite dance that I had not expected to lose the upper hand in…”

And her brow furrowed, fury dimming ever still to allow confusion to come higher into the reigns, with this weighting sense of realization seating itself deep within her gut. The only way a god such as him, or such as any deity within this kingdom (or any other for that matter) could surmount the will of another would be for their current vessel to know death.

 _They know what comes next_.

“You would… be slain…”

Her very core drew icy when his gaze did not return from its yonder stare met with the dancing ash carried away on the breeze, expression unshifting before crimson hues drew shut and a nod gently bobbed his head.

And this sick pit formed deep within her gut _—_

No… no, she couldn’t lose anyone like this.

Not again.

Please, no…

Brow furrowed tighter together, head dipping to lock stare with the snowy white floor beneath her feet, why did… why did such a concept draw this almost burning fear to well within her gut. She had fought him, struck him, loathed his company before.

What had changed…

Why did she want him to stay.

“You could refuse this fight… you could deny this next dance, there is a solution to this, there must be— Grimm…” Her head lifted, pressing her back from the chill shell of the tines she had found herself pressed to.

He remained unmoving, crimson hues then pressing open, looking to her from the corner of his eye before turning his head round and taking a deep breath. “It is not so simple, my lady… without the proper grounds met, this body is still mortal… it will die as every other body will. If I am to hold to my promise made to the King, I must proceed _—_ ”

“ _To hell with the oath—_ the world has changed its shell a thousand times over since your oath has been made, do you really think anyone will be angry with you should you fail to keep a promise to a dead man!?”

She hadn’t meant to yell, she hadn’t meant to be so irate nor so furious with such a claim.

But…

His stare remained unshifting, brow furrowing faintly, as though confusion wracked his own mind with its weighted focus. “Why does it matter to you should I be slain or not… you are close to the child, I understand, but I would simply sleep within the child’s being until they came to maturity _—_ I would not be gone but for a few decades”

Too long, it would be too long alone _—!_

“What should it matter if I am to be slain _—_?”

And she herself had to think as to why it plagued her to think of having another Higher Being rendered to their basic state to slumber a handful of decades to come back into power and she would not be alone… but she would lose Nymwae… _Knight_ would lose them…

And she would lose Grimm forever if she were to interfere.

Why _did_ it matter if she were to lose the man, it was not as though he had been in her life terribly long, why did it matter to her to be alone. She had been isolated for millennia, this would be nothing to her.

This would just be another short stint with no one that understood her plight as an unaging entity.

But she would have the knight at her side, she would not be alone, she would have someone that knew, but… why did it matter to her.

Why did this ache…?

Skies damn this, she knew she should not have let herself get attached, this would not have happened if she had just stayed with her senses and kept to herself.

But then she would not have found the tomes to be read, she would not have faced her false hope and broken its glass, she would not have reclaimed the painting long since lost to her family… she would not have had the memories then made of her time spent with Grimm.

But what could she even say to explain herself.

‘I have grown attached to you and do not want to lose your company?’ Preposterous!

“I… I do not know...”

She turned her head away from the man’s gaze, feeling the black ichor rushing to her cheeks and threaten to cross her face. Though she had to strain with herself to avoid the building urge to claw at her shell, this insufferable burning swell within her carapace and the damnable itch welling into being.

“I… do not want you to leave… I cannot face the idea of isolation as I have endured for the last few centuries, I… I…” And she pinched her face tight in an expression of sheer will straining to keep her words from simply spilling from her.

What could she even say, what could she even tell the man that would not be so simply laughed at.

“You would have your sibling to keep you company, my lady” He brushed a hand through the air with a frivolous roll and fanning of his arm, as though presenting the concept with a grandeur, the showman’s mask mounting into place yet again, and she gave a taut shake of her head.

“It is not the same… it is not...” She drew a tight breath into her being, chest swelled as she kept it pinched in her throat until it began to burn, allowing only then for it to rush from her in a slow sigh, eyes pressing shut, “It is not… your companionship…”

And she could swear she felt the surprise beneath her fingertips, eyes pressing open to peer from the upper corner of her sockets to catch the wide-eyed bewilderment that crossed his face and painted itself firmly in place.

She could almost swear for a moment that she could see the beginnings of a crimson rush of color to pass over his face, but with a slow breath of his own it seemed to vanish-- was it a trick that she had spied the color, or was he simply hiding it beneath a glamour of some sort.

It was then he stepped nearer, and where she expected him to perhaps lash out, claw her shell, grasp her by the throat and hoist her from the ground as though she bore no weight-- to lash out for such a petulant and mortal statement… she herself found bewilderment instead.

Wincing in preparation for the attack that never came, she curled back, a hand extending to block the attack… and yet she did not expect to feel the warmth of a hand carefully enclose about her own.

Eyes pressed open once more to stare in a baffled stupor, hand in the other’s grasp as he drew to a kneel and bowed his head, “W-What…?”

“I will do everything within my power, princess… to ensure that I stay within the confines of this plane… if only for your sake, my lady”

She didn’t know what to do… did she yank her hand back ~~(It felt nice to hold his hand)~~? Did she laugh, lie, or… refuse such a promise or… skies, what was she supposed to respond to this situation. And why, by the Void’s dark did she feel the pricking budding of tears burn at the corner of her eyes.

Her free hand scrubbed at the budding tears, banishing them as best she could before they could spill, blinking hard to try and stave them off.

What did she even do to earn such a response from him.

And yet… she drew a slow exhale and let slip the only thing she could think to say.

“Thank you… Grimm. Thank you…”

His head lifted, opposite arm resting over his knee’s crest, as though he were a knight before his charge, waiting for his next order to be given or gazing with this obscure awe glinting in his stare. But she had done nothing to earn it…

With a steadying breath, she gave a subtle jerk of her head, motioning with a gentle tug of his hand to pull him along, “Come… I believe they may perhaps be done with their exploration of the Hive, they will come searching for us and it is best we perhaps find them before they find us” the knight did tend to have a gift of appearing behind her and startling her, a terribly common thing after she had come to let the shadow into her life.

And with a raspy chortle, he gave a subtle tip of his head, nodding in agreement and raising from his place kneeled, wordlessly agreeing with her suggestion and waiting then for her to step away and lead the path.

Then turning and stepping along, eyes met with the platforms above the far end of the cavern’s maw, though she gave little pause before treading forward it was a lingering moment as the two approached toward the far end before she realized…

She was still holding his hand.

With a jolt she released his hand and tugged back her arm, face flushing a shade of grey that began to hug on the grasp of charcoal, clearing her throat and turning her head away, she stuttered her apologies in a quick jolt before making a quick leap to bound out of range before she could spy the amusement on his face.

Now, to find the knight and Nymwae…

  
  


Breath heaved in a low sigh as he watched the huntress bound away with grace and a fervor of her flustering to guide her with a particular precision. Watching as she flitted out of sight, a rolling sigh spilled from him, hand lifting to run over his horns and remain in place before shaking his head with a subtle unnatural growl to hug the tail end of his drawn exhale.

Eyes opened to glance to the free hand, fingers extended before curling in about his palm with a subtle clench of his fingers.

Her hand, for a seasoned warrior such as her, had been soft…

Dammit, Grimm…

He growled low to himself, cursing himself a moment before shaking his head one last time, “Old fool…”

This warmth in his chest only then seemed to begin to dull, but never quite left. Frustrating as it was to admit, that had been his nail in the coffin for him-- she enjoyed his company, he was not but a brute in her company, not a simple beast in her eyes…

She… enjoyed his company.

This had been to complete the ritual and claim his next vessel, to clear himself of this aging form, and renew the source of energy that fed him, perhaps unleash a swathe of this nightmarish energy that flooded him so as to renew the Nightmare Heart itself, and claim it back again when it festered itself back into being for the next ritual to come.

And yet…

He supposed this frustration was what he had earned or allowing himself to remain open such as this.

Dammit… he loathed to admit it but… seems this warrior of legend for this kingdom had managed an unthinkable feat.

He was in love…

He supposed despite himself, he should follow the woman before she got too far ahead of him, she was a terribly quick bug, the speed she bore was something he near envied.

Come on, Grimm… move along.

No sense in fawning over what will never be reciprocated. No sense at all… 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seems someone has realized something, hasn't he? He's not refusing it, moreso expecting fear to overtake someone's intrigue in him at some point. Hornet, however... we'll see how our fair lady handles it, yes? 
> 
> I did have fun writing this chapter though, getting back into the writing swing.


	12. Dreaming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dreams are not where you turn often to find the path before you, but in a time when one needs guidance most-- dreaming is the only place you can turn.

Sleep, for the first time in a while, came easy to Hornet that night--

And where she expected to dream of the same pitch expanse she saw near every night, with the glittering lights and gleaming colorful clouds drifting in the far distance-- the titanic spherical bodies drifting by within her view… and while it was still what she saw, this night’s angle on the heavenly bodies was less that of a drifting soul among them, and more of a point of view from this curious and rolling mountainous expanse of greys and whites.

What…?

Where… was she…?

Instinct drew her to attempt to look around, only to find it did not simply rotate her plane of view, but allowed her to spin her head round-- oh, heavens, this was… new.

It was then that she realized she could feel the remainder of her body, head turned to glance down about herself, arms extending out to the side as the strained to glance back round to take in the intricacy of the cloak about her shoulders. 

Wait… she parted the embroidered cloak, glancing beneath to spy her usual clothing had been abandoned for a rich red gown that swept about her form in layers. Hugging close with sweeping and flowing sleeves she could almost swear she recognized this design, seen a thousand times before in paintings, carvings, and etchings of the fallen ruler of the kingdom.

No, she _did_ recognize this gown--

It bore an almost exact design likeness to the Pale King’s robes, save for the intricate golden embroidering at the hem of each nigh gauzy layer, and the fact it shone a resilient crimson in the pale light of this place.

When had she ever seen… no… this was her gown from her coronation day--

Catching sight of something from the corner of her eye, she turned, spinning round and near gawking at the tremendous structure towering high above her; a gate with sculpted walls on either side in a gleaming white, of elegant and seamless alabaster-- no sign of a single brick lain to create this grand place.

It was… nigh enrapturing to have the gift of standing before it, be this place born of a dream or not-- it was reminiscent of the forgotten glory of the White Palace in its glory days.

Treading nearer she watched as the gate opened before her to bare the tremendous town beyond its doors, Hornet’s eyes only seem to widen at the sight of the glistening city beyond… it’s…

It’s as though it were the City of Tears… towering buildings and stunning lights to illuminate the silvery streets… but rendered to this state in shades of white and greys. It was astounding in a sense, and… sad in another.

Turning as she walked, she could only take in the view around her a the gates drew shut behind her-- what was this place-- with the silvered ivy handing from archways, intricate filigree painting paths up the buildings nearest the road.

This was almost as though the White Palace had blossomed into a tremendous capital for the kingdom to live within. Something that the Pale King had dreamed of coming into being in his lifetime, or perhaps in Hornet’s beneath her guidance over the people.

And she slowed, standing almost dumb to anything else over this glorious flashback to a time long since passed, the gleaming white towers, spiraling and elegant streetlamps, but this glorious scene of the black expanse overhead.

It was… like home.

Pausing to spin round with a slow and dragging step, she stared on with this staggered awe, bringing her gown and cloak to flow with a nigh ethereal sway about her form, flitting by in the same manner one might have perhaps imagined a dancing flame to curl through the air.

She swore this dream had to have been something of a memory, until--

“I am pleased to see you are so fond of the city’s design-- I had hoped it would remind you of home--”

That voice.

There was no way… he was dead…

“Have I perhaps succeeded?”

Her head turned, slow with the corner of her eye catching the white-clad form of an admittedly short-statured but grandly proud in poise bug, a crown of tines about his head that stood with more glory than that of the average bug.

It… it couldn’t be…

The form tread nearer, stride of the many legs along his tail almost enough to make one quite believe he were instead hovering in place of walking as any other man may.

Hand lifted to cover the end of her helm, covering her mouth as shock painted its path across her face, watching the man glide nearer and fish from within his sleeves with an idle chortle, a handkerchief to extend his hand-- to which Hornet could swear she expected to feel nothing but the breeze.

And yet the brush of exquisite and fine fabric covering the other’s lithe claws gently passed over her cheek, collecting the pitch tears beneath either eye she had not known had taken to spilling their path down her cheeks.

“Do not weep, my child-- this is not a time for you to shed such tears”

With a slow-building shake of her head, a sputtering laugh flitted from her before she drew her arms from her sides to reach out, eyes pinching shut, and quickly winding arms about the Pale King’s form. She expected him to perhaps push her back, to comment on the tears staining his robes, or the fact this was unbefitting of a Queen-to-be.

But nothing of the sort came, and for that she was thankful.

The winding curl of his arms about her own form, however, drew a subtle and choked sob--

“I missed you...”

She barely registered the words had left her, scantly acknowledging it as her own voice-- only realizing she had let loose such a claim to weakness when he chortled low and tightened his embrace, and she swore she could hear the clatter of the many legs dancing over the ground to coil about her feet.

“And I you, my child--”

This had to be a dream, or some hallucination but it all felt so real--

His grip slackened, leaning back to hold his daughter at an arm’s length before chuckling low, “You have not changed a day since we spoke last, Hornet-- the blood of the Void has been kind to you” Shifting, his right hand fell away, left ushering her along with a gentle press to walk at his side.

“Come… we have much to talk about, my child”

And it was all she could do to take the handkerchief he then pressed into her hands, and dab at the still spilling tears. Footsteps carrying her with a subtle swish to her stride, the gown about her carrying on as though lifted by the subtle breeze to flow about her as she could remember her father’s robes in her youth.

A part of her wanted to grasp the sides of the gown and twirl with it in hands to watch it flow as she would when she was but a girl--

But with the man that had made her into the resolute hunter through sheer will to do the man’s name something proud, she could find no want to part her attention from anything other than the glorious town surrounding her and the reborn king choosing the path through the streets of this place.

“You have grown into quite the warrior, Hornet, haven’t you?”

Her head snapped round to blink blindly for a moment, head shifting down to process his words for a moment, seeming to beckon a chuckle with her answer of “I… suppose so?”

“Do not feel the need to watch your tongue, my child-- this is an encounter of great chance and the first time we have known the chance to be speaking to one another in centuries passed.”

His hands clasped neatly before himself, sleeves covering the folded hands and creating a graceful image of the man, exact to that of the portrait now hanging in the hut down on the plane of the waking world. But this air about him; collected, and benign, and… warm.

This was what she remembered of him.

She gave a second missed beat of deep thought before nodding, firm in the visibly blossoming pride that settled in her, showing itself with how her head lifted and shoulders seemed to square themselves.

“I… have grown into what I believed would protect the kingdom from this collapse, and… what I felt would perhaps bring pride to the royal name… but I know naught if I succeeded in either--” She sighed, lifting a hand to brush over her helm, tilting her head faintly.

She had certainly failed in keeping the kingdom alive, certainly failed in helping this place to thrive, failed in keeping its denizens alive, failed in… my, many things that took its steely blade and drove it into the side of her pride’s being and drew it to crumple if only to ready itself and slash back at the damning thoughts.

She had saved many people of the kingdom, from countless threats, from countless years passed, and kept the kingdom from dying outright.

She had not failed… she had simply…

Oh, what was the use…

“I… rather failed at both haven’t I--”

Standing at the man’s side, walking through these splendid streets, all she could think of was every fleeting mistake she had ever made, he knew she had come to be a huntress, he had to know more, know everything she had done-- he had to, why did he not mention them, he was the Pale King, the monarch over the kingdom of Hallownest.

He was more than capable of seeing through this ill set charade of pride she had set for herself, though her shoulders did not lose their squared posture, but the glint to her eye dulled. It wasn’t a missed beat before the shake of the man’s head drew her attention.

“I have seen that look in your eye many a time, Hornet… you are overthinking yourself. You are far too hard on yourself… you must accept that with the successes in life there are many failures that lead to them. “He unclasped hands to wave one briefly through the air before himself, as though presenting his next words for thought as they walked.

“Would you call the kingdom a failure…”

Her head snapped back round, “No--!” Answer quick and resolute in tone, almost aghast at the very thought.

“Ah, but the kingdom has fallen has it not? Crumbled away from what it was, certainly it’snothing but a failure” What was he getting at, no, he would never talk down about his greatest creation, what was he even _saying_!

Again she retorted almost immediately, a glint of fire sparking in her, “It is not a failure simply because it has fallen, its memory is everlasting, the people still thrive within the villages and towns, certainly that must mark its success” She could not bare to have anyone talk down about this fair kingdom, crumbled or not, infected or not--

After she had seen how dear it had come to be for the little knight, to insult it as she had before, to mark it as little more than fleeting dust as she had once thought it to be, no this would not stand!

She didn’t care if the man was the King or not, father or not!

He had no right to put down what had become so dear to her sibling, and through them, through her suffering for it, through the many years spent toiling for its survival-- dear to her.

“Exactly…”

She blinked, confusion painting a swathe of emotion over her shell, what…?

“Pardon…?”

His head turned to gaze upon his daughter, drawing a breath in to swell his chest before his gaze returned to the path ahead. Hornet’s own gaze turned to follow, watching as the town itself flowed round into exquisite skyscrapers, glittering in the light of the far yonder spots of brilliant fire so far away-- and then back to him.

“Every success… is met with failure before it. I failed many times in the rise of the kingdom, watched it topple more than once in my very hands, and tore it through into being to free all of bug kind may know freedom and know their own will.” His hands clasped back before himself, disappearing beneath the spotless white fabric of his sleeves.

Her head drooped, eyes drifting down in thought to stare somewhere between the foreground before her, and the yonder ground.

“Not every mistake made is a failure… it is something that teaches you what may work in the next attempt. Not every failure is a mark to mar your image, my child-- but instead paint the story of a powerful being that persisted beyond no matter the challenge” His steps seemed to slow, stride moving to curve to the left, then catching Hornet’s attention and glancing up, she realized briefly what drew his change in direction.

Before her stood a towering fountain, glittering in the same alabaster of this city and its splendor, sculpted edges, and a high rising center that spilled the water back into its basin in a sense of something glorious, perhaps even otherworldly.

Her head turned, glancing to where her father had last stood and trailing round in a quick growing panic only to spy him settling down to seat himself on a bench to the fountain’s far left.

Eyes flitted round as the panic dying down with a quickness, shifting gaze back to the fountain, almost wanting to keep to gazing upon this pristine structure, before turning and striding after her father’s chosen path to walk toward the bench he had chosen to tuck the long tail beneath and coil over itself, stopping before it to almost fumble internally as to what to do.

His hand patted to the seat beside him, ushering her forward wordlessly--

She complied after a missed beat, turning round and tucking her gown beneath her to keep it from dragging over the earth, a deep breath swelling her chest and turning her head then to gaze at this man so long dead.

“I have a fondness for this spot… the sound of the fountain reminds me dearly of the City of Tears, it nigh makes me nostalgic, and you can see the body of Venus in the far distance at this hour.”

He gestured softly toward the far path ahead, the buildings seeming parted to show the curve of the surrounding grounds, drawing Hornet’s own attention. What was a… ‘vee-nus’.

Her eyes settled in the far distance on a light far brighter than the rest, blinking, she lifted a hand to point wordlessly and look to the Pale King. “What is that… is it a… _veenus_ like you said?”

He chuckled, “It is not _a_ Venus, it _is_ Venus-- a celestial body that inhabits the cosmos surround our world, it is, by your birth-- _your_ celestial body.” With a subtle nudge to her arm he drew a soft chuckle with his exhale once more.

She blinked, confusion again wracking her thoroughly, “My… celestial body?”

He gave a nod, “We are all entities to which a celestial body is denoted, the Higher Beings at least. I am the moon, the Radiance is that of the sun… our dear friend Nightmare King; Grimm is that of the red star far yonder--” Again he gestured, her gaze followed with a turn, watching he himself turn to gesture beyond the far fountain, spotting the gleaming red dot that matched… _Venus_ ’ own glow. “Mars as it is called… and you… are born of the reigning body Venus”

And he drew a soft breath, almost prideful to say his next words. 

"The morning star--"

She struggled to wrap her mind around it, but for some reason… it did make sense. But… what was a… moon. Or a _sun_ for that matter.

“What is a… moon, I saw a sketch of it in one of the books Grimm had allowed me to borrow, I believe it had once been a journal of his for it mentioned seeing… Jericho within it.”

He chortled low, gentle lifting a hand to wave it through the air, “It is but a name I have been given, my child-- the moon, Jericho, la luna, the night’s sun-- they are all but titles given to me in my many years within this reality”

She had to think on it, but… to hear it from him… of the celestial bodies, of the many names they as Higher Beings would collect in their lifetimes--

He had no reason to lie to her now, nothing to lose, nothing to hide with all his secrets lain out before her in her centuries treading the grounds of Hallownest’s corpse.

And she shifted her head to gaze out at the gleaming star far yonder…

Her celestial body… hmm.

It drew a subtle smile to her face, knowing then that she shared one thing in common with that of the many Higher Beings, and her hands folded neatly in her lap, drawing in a deep breath in thought, eyes pressing shut.

So, Grimm had a celestial body of… Mars… was it?

The red gleam of such a light suited him.

And she paused… there he was on her thoughts again, he must have done something, some spell, some old magic, something to bewitch the inner workings of her mind such as this.

Certainly, this was some curse he had lain on her--

Her shell itched at the passing of the thought, hand lifting to pass over the back of her neck, idly scratching to sate the itch, catching the her father’s attention with the subtle airy chortle that left him, his head unturning from its place gazing out upon the swirling clouds and gleaming lights.

“Something is on your mind, is it not, my child”

She froze, swearing in that moment a swathe of black had painted her face, but remained silent, turning her head away with a quick huff, and letting a moment slip by, and then a second, thinking on how to phrase everything that had since happened without so idly spilling the entire story to the King.

“I know you cannot lie without repercussion, dear girl… it is a trait of those who wield the light of Soul within them. Come now, what ever should bother you so as to draw you to itch at the festering lie you tell yourself”

Oh come on, was she really so obvious?

She grumbled low to herself, scrubbing hand back and forth over the nape of her neck to again try and find the words to explain her situation before it slipped from her in a sputtered sigh, “I have come to encounter the Nightmare King once again…”

And she could swear, from the corner of her eye she could spy the faintest of smiles crossing the man’s face, subtle as it was, with a side glance to him, she found nothing of the sort but his benign expression painted instead in place, humming idly to himself as though deep in thought.

“So Grimm took to keeping his promise, did he… what ever should bother you of his company, my child?” His eyes drew shut, appreciating the sound of the waters behind him. It must have been the closest thing he could get to his beloved city, the nearest he could manage to make to mimic the sound of the ever pouring rain.

And she drew a taut breath into her chest, pursing mandibles tight together a moment before allowing the breath to rather gracelessly sputter from her. Hands lifted to scrub at her face, her sleeves drifting to sink to her elbows, and a chuckle flitting from her with a soft shake of her head.

“I cannot get him off of my mind…”

And he seemed to freeze, eyes pressing open as though he had not quite expected such a response.

“We met under cold circumstances, and dueled-- he should have struck me, he should have killed me-- that was our deal, but then he stole mother’s pin she gave to me, and I lost my temper and lunged for him” She exhaled, there was no way around it, was there.

She’d have to explain her story to the other for him to understand the full weight of her plight pulling down on her shoulders.

“He had every chance to kill me, and he didn’t… but he drove his ritual and the care of his child into the hands of the Knight, and I did not trust him-- not at first… but in my persistence to prove him a threat to the kingdom, he drew more…” She faltered a moment, head dropping back and staring out at the spiraling colorful clouds far beyond.

“Damn me for saying it, father, but… he drew… _charming_ ”

She looked away, feeling the flush to her face building to admit such a thing, a hand lifting to cover her right cheek.

“I struck him-- and from there on he… changed. He lost the edge of his cruelty, to me at least. I know naught as to whether he still shows kindness to his troupe and followers”

The Pale King blinked, an amused expression passing across his face, “You managed to strike him outside of battle, my child?”

And she nodded her head, softly.

A chuckle left him, amused that his old friend had been struck so readily by the girl he had sworn to protect. “Oh, I do not find mirth in your troubles, Hornet-- beg my pardon, it is so rare one can say they have struck the Nightmare King without themselves being shred from their shell-- it is rather monumental to me that he did not lash out in turn”

She gave a cant of her head to the side, thinking on that day, “He had been baffled by it I believe.”

She spied from the corner of her eye, the shake rolling through her father’s form, seeming to stifle a laugh by the looks of it.

“My, do go on-- my child, I mean not to laugh so readily”

Her breath drew in, and bounced out in a subtle chuckle of her own, thinking now on how close she had been to perhaps being torn to shreds, Higher Being or not.

“He followed me the next day… I had sought to recall your memory in its truest form, but I had nothing to claim it as truth, nor had I ever returned to the palace grounds since I had run from the day of… since...” Tears threatened to prick at the corners of her eyes, burning and daring to bring her hand to her face to press the now pitch stained handkerchief to catch them before they could fall.

And her head lifted but her gaze drooped to meet with the stone floor before her, if she hadn’t run, things would have been different. The kingdom would have continued to thrive… it would not have crumbled as it did.

If she hadn’t been a coward--

An elbow dug into her side briefly, causing her to jump, a side glance catching her father’s gaze almost sympathetic but poignant.

“You should know I am long since familiar with the face of guilt on you, my child...”

She blinked a moment, recognizing that same expression had been… in some facet of it, in Grimm’s own expression, buried beneath the firm and cool mask he always bore to tuck away his emotions.

So the two of them truly had been dear friends…

To pick up on the other’s habits, it was hard to figure out just where the habit had originated.

Had it been the King’s habit to jab a thin elbow into another’s side when he could tell they thought low of themselves, to be later honed by Grimm, or… the other way around?

“What happened… _happened_ … there is nothing we can do to change the past-- with all power at my disposal, I could only do as much as I had before my body’s time came, Hornet.” His hands shifted from their place folded to lift and rest a lithe hand on her shoulder.

His body's time… had that-- the ritual!

“Your… body could no longer contain you, could it… that is why you are here, isn’t it”

And with a subtle nod, from the man, a semblance of pride on his face that she had pieced things together so swiftly. But in the same breath, what felt like thousands of years of guilt that had strained the very being of Hornet’s will, to its near breaking point and tears for its bearer…

It… lifted.

It had not… been her fault?

But the nature of the gods instead to blame or this travesty that had robbed the kingdom of its ruler.

Her head dipped a bit once more, instead lifting back this time as her thoughts collected with a quickness, “Grimm spoke… on a matter involving the decay of his own body…”

To which the Pale King gave a nod, “The rebirth of the Nightmare Heart--”

And she drew a taut breath into her chest, yes… that.

“He gave his child… to the knight, one of the vessels you created that survived, my sibling in the very essence of it. And has had them at his bidding to complete the ritual’s prerequisites for him… father, we have spent many nights with the child as our companion.” She watched as the man’s benign expression took the faintest facets of empathy that crossed in a washing curl of emotion, subtle like passing clouds and their shadows made underfoot.

It was something on the cusp of frustrating to know the man knew this pain but said nothing on it when she could have-- no, Hornet… breathe… you could not have helped, you knew nothing on the situation. Even you cannot stop the tides of time, weaver…

“We’ve… drawn close to them, named them… and he told me before, on the evening before this meeting, that they were… to be his vessel. But that he had no control over the actions that should come next”

The man’s head again nodded, “The Nightmare King is as we all are, too powerful for his body, but prone to mortal flaw… the Heart that brought him into being is that of which drives him through and forces his hand in the battles he has faced”

Her brow furrowed, so the very essence of his true self fought to keep its body maintained, to keep on the mortal plane so as to walk amongst mortals… perhaps to draw on their fear of him and his legends. But it only drew this swelling fear to well in her gut.

Again tears threatened to prick at the corners of her eyes, “Father I… I cannot lose them” It ached to admit it… but she had grown _fond_ of Grimm’s pestering and his companionship.

Heavens, when had she let herself get so soft--

“The child…?”

And she shook her head, “Not just them, I cannot lose Grimm… to lose either after so long alone may--” And the inky black tears spilled over the crests of her cheeks as a hitched breath tore into her and shuddered back out with the noise of a barely there sob catching in her throat. “What it will do to the Knight, it would devastate them, I cannot face such pain in their being”

And he let silence fall a moment leaving her to try and fail to steady her breathing as she blotted at these pitch tears.

“And what of you…”

Her head turned once more, confusion again painting its colors across her visage.

What _about_ her…?

Thoughts drew to stumble over one another, the fondness she felt, the amusement, the fear to lose the man and his child, was it all truly for the simple fact that she had simply… found another’s company that she… _liked_ Grimm’s companionship, was it so simply said that she was simply in--

No… don’t even think about it, Hornet--

“I… do not matter in this moment, I must think of what is best for the Knight”

Her shell gave a rolling itch under the surface, a glint of frustration passing in her eye and then gone in the next second.

The hand on her shoulder gave a gentle squeeze, catching her attention and drawing her head to round and meet stare with it, then drifting to lock stares with her father.

“Despite what you may tell yourself… my child, you are the Daughter of Hallownest. You will _always_ matter.”

Her breath hitched again in her throat, face drawing tight as tears bubbled free and beyond her best reason, she darted forward and latched arms about the Pale King’s chest as quiet sobs wracked her body.

He did not tense, nor did he push her away as she so feared he would, but in turn, his arms wound about her, “Do not allow the thoughts that plague you allow you to believe yourself as less than what you are, young goddess--”

And she nodded, “If you believe you have reason to keep the man with you, then that is all the reason you should need to pursue what you believe is best for you.” And he squeezed her tighter, a hand moving to run up and down the back of her helm pressed to the man’s shoulder.

Trembling from the tears wracking her form, she breathed a long and slow exhale, and leaned back with the hand knotted around the black stained kerchief to wipe at the spilling tears with blotting taps. “Thank you… father, I… it has been so long since we spoke last, and I fear this may be the last we could ever speak… but I must give you my thanks… I--” And she breathes out a long and slow exhale, before locking gazes with the man, leaning back from his embrace to smile with a gleam of light to her expression that had not been seen in her eyes for many a year.

“I needed to hear that…”

He shifts, rising to stand, and beckoning Hornet to do the same, her gaze turning round as a glinting light came into the corner of her vision, a golden light spilling over the horizon of the grey sphere far beyond this world’s edge.

Rising to her full height she stared on with an almost awe, before looking to her father as his hand settled on her shoulder, his smile still subtle but firm in place, “You’ve been wounded, my child… but I can see that you are healing, this conversation of ours is just a step that you made toward your own wellness--”

She herself smiled, looking away, finding pride in his words, and feeling tears well at his next words, “I care not if anyone is proud of my name, my child… but know this… I am _so…_ proud of you”

The tears did not fall this moment, pride in her chest too swelling and fiery to allow such dark streaks to paint down her face. Attention shifted then to the crumpled kerchief in her hand, and then to the King before her, eyes flitting to a black stain on his shoulder and gasping aloud.

“Ah, your robes--! I apologize I had not realized I would stain your vestiments--!”

To which he idly shook his head with a subtle chortle, lifting his hand from her shoulder to pass it over the pitch stain that bled into the flowing fabric-- and with the pass of his pedipalps over the surface, it was gone. “It is but a stain, nothing that cannot be remedied, my dear girl…”

Carefully, he extended his hands to offer to take the kerchief, to which Hornet reluctantly obliged, watching then as his hands folded the delicate fabric, and closed palms over it, “Everything you believe to be marred, dirtied, or to have failed… can always be restored”

A brilliant gleam of starry white, brilliant enough she had to avert her eyes and shield with her right arm, before it vanished away as fast as it had begun, with the Pale King’s hands unfolding to show the intricately embroidered handkerchief in his hand, gently being pressed back into Hornet’s own grasp.

“You believe yourself to have failed… but my child… you are only just beginning into your life… everything you fear has a solution… remember this--”

His hand landed on her shoulder, opposite beckoning for her to bow her head before he himself pressed his helm to gently meet with her own.

A subtle hum and he leaned back, the fond smile still firmly in place and absolutely glowing with the Soul that made up his form.

As a shaky breath rolled from her, she smiled softly, realizing this to be his final goodbye, drew in close, clutching the kerchief in hand and again wrapped arms about him, thrown over his shoulders in a tight final embrace.

A last tight wind of his arms, clutching his daughter tight, the Pale King one last time, held her at an arm’s length to nod, “Now… princess, you must go and face your people for they have yet to know the new Queen.”

The pride she had thought to have been at its zenith only seemed to swell brighter, grand enough in its splendor she felt her chest may just burst.

“Yes, father… I will do just that”

“Now… my Queen, it is time for you to wake up”

With a deep breath, her eyes shut, and when they next opened, the gleaming skies far overhead were gone, replaced by the humble hut she had come to know as her home with the knight and Nymwae. Siting up in her cot, her knees curled, moving to stretch as the light of daybreak poured in through the windows--

Hmm…?

In the clenching of her hand mid-stretch, she could feel something give beneath her curling fingers, soft and delicate in touch, with subtle embroidering along its edges.

Drawing hand down, she uncurled fingers… and smiled, for tucked within her grasp was a neatly folded, splendidly soft handkerchief embroidered at every edge with the intricate filigree that had decorated her father’s robes in his days as King.

Eyes shut as she drew the hand in close to her chest, folding the opposite over it and curling toward her knees.

She would make you proud, father…

She would always make you proud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a chapter I've had planned for a very long time, and wanted to have come out as smoothly as I could get it-- I apologize if it feels disjointed-- but I wanted the Pale King to be that of a good father over many of the cold and cruel depictions-- 
> 
> Getting started on the next chapter as you read this💚🤍🖤


	13. Flame's Sway

It was the first time since coming to know the man that Hornet had willingly come unto the grounds of the cirque, welcomed by a gracious bow and trilling hello from Divine and an idle nod from the musician swaying to the sound of his own accordion and its melody… and seeking to spend another day in his company.

Perhaps if only to know just what this emotion in her chest could truly be.

A name for it by some semblance of the meaning-- or better still the understanding of what had sparked it.

Flitting in a turning bound round the busy-bodied forms of the Grimmkin maintaining the grounds of the old cirque and its far older daily rituals to build to its intended penultimate of a grand (and by definition world ending) ritual.

Even if it only ended a single man’s world, if but for that body…

(He would survive the ordeal, he would survive, he would live through it, Hornet, it would just be a different body.)

Yeah… Nymwae’s…

Her head turned to follow the quick floating form of a far smaller entity of the many summoned followers daintily tending to the Tent and its grand structure for the day, her feet lifting and spinning her form round to carefully avoid the three then approaching forms that seem to almost curl through the air like the very mist that enshrouds the troupe master-- no… not mist but wisps of smoke.

In watching them, stepping over their forms as they darted beneath her and around her, her legs lifting in quick and borderline stumbling jumps, seeming to be in the dead center of their slipstream of direction--

It was like just that…

Watching smoke drift through the air, carried on a pale breeze and flowing to their end destination with humming and subtle grace.

Could she call it fascinating, or could she simply call it enchanting--

It felt, to her like watching a man’s hand guide them in his faint exhaling breaths of smoke, as though this was all his will, and it made her wonder just what power truly lay beneath his fingertips if this was something all his own. Was this but a fragment of his strength-- or was this just him playing idly to keep himself amused with the many that had sworn themselves to his side in guiding them without their knowing.

So much wondered, and yet… it admittedly begged the question--

Before he had known corruption, before he had fallen from his found grace, had he been so benign in the sense of humbly guiding his beloved followers from danger with the idle brush of his will, consulting their inner senses from his place tucked away within the confines of this grand tent.

Was it this will of drifting smoke that carefully directed the many he held near within his care--

And she dared to ask herself…

Was she bringing back this benign caress of his will-- in place of the blazing threat of fire to scorch them if they did not so simply obey.

Had she helped to save them in some manner where she had failed… no, where this kingdom had gone outside of her reach here. She had not failed… the world had simply spun outside of her control, she knew this…

But it made her smile somewhat, stepping from the path of the back and forth drifting forms of the troupe master’s servants to see them more so glide through the air with a sort of gleefulness to their work.

A small giggle left the huntress as two of the Grimmkin bumped into one another, bowed their heads in apologies, and darted back around the other to continue on their paths, and in it she found a small peek at an answer she had so hoped for.

Maybe there was some pride to be found in holding to the other’s company in a few days passing-- mm, what could it hurt?

It seemed more so, as the groups vanished away to their next tasks, leaving the center of the room clear to dart across, it could only help… right?

Ah, but there was not terribly much sense in pondering on what was right and what was not, contradictory as it could sound, it was simply better to act. She couldn’t simply sit idly by-- after all, he had sworn he would not lash out on his subjects.

Well… sworn so long as she kept to watching the man and ensuring he held to his promise.

Perhaps she should up her end of the promise and have him offer kindness to them--

A giggle flitted from her, hand covering her mouth with a noble’s grace, oh such a thought should surely never be indulged by the man-- hmm, perhaps if she asked nicely?

Again, a laugh fought from her at such a concept.

The masked stagehands bowed as Hornet passed, few of them that had not been found to be caught in the daily workings of the nigh ancient troupe, practicing their acts for the theatrical dance for the masses-- one of which bowed to Hornet, another beckoning for her to come nearer and dance with them.

Fondly chuckling, she amused them with a twirling spin and bow to them, legs crossing eloquently, an arm fanning far beyond her back, taking perhaps a spark of inspiration from the master of this tremendous cirque as she rose with a curling twirl of her opposite hand.

The performers gave giddy claps of their hands, two of which bouncing eagerly and bounding forward to grasp for Hornet’s hands to tug her nearer to dance with them as though she could be a part of their next dance.

Flitting laughter spilled from her as she stumbled into their grasp’s pull, watching as the other t6hree seemed to position themselves and graciously offer her what she could only assume to be the lead position, a subtle laugh and she fanned a hand before resting it daintily on her chest, “Oh, I am not a performer, I would certainly only make a mess of the act you have set for yourselves”

Alas, they urged her along, two that had taken her hands ushering her silently with bounces and claps of their hands.

She smiled despite herself as the center of the remaining three feigned heartbreak at her denial, hands held over their chest, lifting one to press the back to their mask’s brow.

“Ah, how can I fair such a fate to know I have broken your heart in not taking this dance, oh fair masked one--” She herself pressed a hand to her chest and mirrored their feign, head turned away and eyes falling shut, grand enough she could swear she could hear the pleased little giggles of the otherwise silent performers.

She watched as they seemed to gather in a five-pointed circle around her, themselves moving to start the very moment she stepped into the center, and spinning as though this were some uniform dance for their parts of the act.

She watched as they stepped then to rotate this ring about her, bounding gently through the air, arms extending in their graceful spin, a dancing glow of those crimson flames blossoming about their hands and drawing them into vinelike ropes of thriving flames that left trailing paths behind them as they twirled.

It was hypnotic in a sense, but inspiring-- heavens could she even still recall her old lessons, she had not kept with them in rigor-- yes she’d kept with them but would she simply embarrass herself-- oh stars, she was beginning to wonder if she had bitten off more than she could chew--

The circle of Grimmkin faltered as she fell to second guess herself in place of guiding them in their dance, but they did not idly stare at her as she expected them to, instead one stepped forward from their spot to usher her along-- or so she thought they had approached to. Their hands extended and gently grasped one of hers, patting at the back of her palm-- mask locking stares with her.

She couldn’t help but see the soft gleam of understanding in their mask’s sockets, it is alright, it said without speaking so much as a single word, you are the one to guide, we will follow your lead.

And she could only find it in herself to let the subtle smile cross her face, nodding gently and watching them squeeze her hand gently before releasing it to return to its position.

The surrounding group again poised themselves to start, and looked to Hornet, nodding to tell her silently she had control this time round, they would follow her lead.

And she smiled at the gesture, before herself poising legs in a gentle cross, lifting her arms and swearing in that moment she could feel the spark of energy from this place take root in her chest, a certain giddiness blooming before giving a soft twirling spin and bow.

The delight emanating from the performer that had reassured her was nigh palpable, before their hands blossomed with those same crimson flames and the group followed suit, giving a soft twirling spin themselves and moving to start back into their twirling circle to rotate around her with those streaks of radiant and vivid flames drawing the fast disappearing trails behind them.

Her smile seemed to cement itself, rising from her bow to hold arms out and curl them overhead, lifting a leg before extending arms out at her sides and rounding her leg with a hard twist round, extending it and pulling it back tight-- a graceful pirouette, and again, a third time and she moves to bound into the air.

How long had it been since she had danced for the very sake of dancing-- heavens, it had been since she was a girl when she had last danced like this, a flitting giggle and her smile seems to grow.

With each curling spin they give, she seems to match their pace, bounding around their circle given, and twirling round with each padded bounce she gives to the ground, and it’s almost synchronized.

She wonders what they look like from a spectator’s eye-- landing again to bound into the air and flicking legs out into a grand splits into the air, and then giving a plie on her next landing.

It feels like not a day has passed since her last lesson, and she gives a bubbling giggle, rounding leg through the air in a grand spin, kicking high behind her and bounding to flick legs together with arms out wide at her sides.

It’s almost liberating in a sense, to dance like this-- to use her strength and agility instead to leap through the air like gravity bears no grasp on her, she can almost swear she can hear music play for her as she rounds back into a twirling spin and bounds again to click her feet in the air.

The flames dance higher, as though bowing only to her own dance’s motions--

Her eyes shut, following the sound of the crackling flames and their heat to tell her how close they drew, and following this melody and its sway, she curls hand over her head, dropping head back, bending knee to balance on the lone leg and back high, bowing forward on the balanced foot’s end.

It’s strenuous, it’s difficult to keep this grace maintained, hell, it’s downright certain to make her ache later, but to know in this moment she can simply have fun and curl body round through the air in a gliding twirl-- without some threat to lunge for her within the safety of this tent’s confines, it’s something she didn’t know she had wanted.

The surrounding dancers curl arms in, and with a final bloom of heat, she bounds high with a last spinning kick of her legs wide, feeling the fiery heat pass beneath her, before she descends with a whirling grace to land with legs neatly crossed, and bows deeply.

The surrounding Grimmkin give eager applause, clapping and bouncing in delight as Hornet rises from her bow, chuckling softly under her breath and glancing about the group as they dart in about her to congratulate her on such a dance for her first run through without any practice with them.

The remaining stagehands themselves had paused to give their own applause, but eventually, it draws to a dulling silence, a lone pair of hands themselves carrying the applause on.

Lifting her head, she looks to the source, finding it to be none other than the troupe master himself, an amused expression painting its path over his shell. The sight alone beckons a flush to pass over her face, grey shades passing over her helm, and a hand not bound in the grasp of the performer that had comforted her’s own finds its way pressed flush to her cheek.

“I had not known you kept with your lessons, my lady--”

“I had not known you were watching, Grimm, else I might not have so eagerly taken to their offer--” She states, much to the dismay of the Grimmkin holding her hand, the poor dear seeming to feign great woe, a hand leaving hers to press to its brow, and she cannot help but giggle at their response.

“I did not quite realize my presence would be so decisive of what you should perform within the confines of my tent’s grounds, Lady Hornet--” He chuckles that raspy laugh of his, stepping nearer. His presence presses back the forms of the surrounding performers, she watches them bow their heads and step back with great reverence.

To which she watches with a subtle pang in her chest as the nameless performer that had comforted her in a moment of uncertainty dip their head low and back from her side with a wave goodbye to her as the five collectively glide away to continue their practice before she had so deftly interrupted them with her presence.

And her gaze shifts, face still faintly colored with the grey tones of her ichor, looking up to the troupe master. His expression is richly hued with the fractaled gleam of amusement and… approval? Had he not expected her to so dance among his followers at but a request?

Well, she could not blame him, she herself would not have expected such of her-- it had been a curious whim she had followed, and something that had amused her in that moment and overthrown her restraint or will to preserve her appearance as a battle-hardened maiden of the ruins.

“It makes me wonder, fair lady, have you kept with the lessons of your many court dances-- would you know a waltz’s sway, Miss Hornet?” It’s almost startling to see him bow before her, his cloak unfurling about him to offer his hand to her. A man of such vicious nature, such power, and such dark capabilities bowing before her and offering his hand to take into the possibility of a ballroom’s dance.

But she can find no reason to mistrust it, it does not stop her hesitation, she curls fingers in a gentle squeeze to her palm. Thinking a moment, a part of her wonders if it would be such a smart idea, to so willingly take his hand and test her skill in dance against the well-trained grace of a man far more experienced.

But she can find no reason to mistrust _him_ …

So she curls and uncurls fingers in thought, but as his head lifts in a semblance of curiosity crossing his face, wondering if she would so deny him the possibility of a dance partner for not a duel, but a true dance.

Alas, despite her own sake, she slides her hand over his palm, and watches as fingers curl over the side of his palm, and as he so gingerly returns the gesture, ensnaring her own hand within his entirely of her own will.

He rises from his bow, and her head dips back to keep eyes met with his, stepping nearer to the other and extending her opposite hand, it meets with his shoulder but only barely without straining it to extend fully or standing as tall as she can to barely balance on a leg like a child at the counter’s edge.

She admits pride in this, perhaps she is not so terribly short, perhaps the other is simply tremendous in height.

“I recall many of my lessons, but I believe I may need your guidance this once… Grimm”

It’s so rare she uses the man’s name, and yet she finds herself using it more and more the longer he is settled within the town’s far set fringes, there is little frustration she can find in his company the longer he stays.

“Ah, just this once? Are you certain I am not required for more guidance in matters regarding that of godhood? Perhaps matters of royalty--” She gives a roll of her eyes and fights a smile as he curls his hand in a theatrical and dramatic coil through the air, pressing fingertips to his chest with a downward glance to her as she fights her building crooked smirk. “Ah, I have brought a smile into being, success is mine this fair day--”

Again a laugh slips from her at the comment, the kind that sputters and bubbles free, shaking her head as a crooked grin of his own paints a path across his visage.

“A laugh as well, perhaps this is a dream in which I have been given such luck--” His free hand gently lands on her hip, a soft glance to the musician to the far corner of the room, to which he nods and the melody played shifts in tune.

A beat of three and the man’s gaze falls back to her, “Last chance to back out of this dance, my lady--”

Hornet chortles low, “You think me a coward? I will do no such thing, my lord--”

He blinks back surprise, the kind she can see in his eyes, but his expression warms back to the resting fire behind those crimson hues, stepping then toward her and directing her wordlessly to follow his own steps.

She stumbles at first-- there is a difference between dancing in a circle of secondary dancers and carrying yourself in the guidance of another. She so rarely sits idly by and follows, in turn preferring to follow her own will, it feels foreign to allow another control even in just a simple dance.

He makes no face of annoyance at her stumble, instead humming idle amusement, “It should seem the royalty of the kingdom has not maintained her lessons of dance in these times of ruin, heavens, what should be done should you be required to dance in the court of a neighboring kingdom--?” His voice lilts with a teasing air, that husk to his tone only seeming to bring a flush to her face, averting her gaze and quick spitting an excuse.

“There have been no civilizations to follow ours, what use would there be in keeping with such frivolous steps should I better need to better spend my time preparing medicine or honing my blade’s edge for a battle to come”

And there is a shake of his head as he steps back, guiding her to follow, “Ah, but not every battle is one of brute strength, Lady Hornet, perhaps it is one of grace and understanding of the diplomacy of the countries to which you should travel to, mm?”

There is a slow spin, to which Hornet can barely think to keep with him, but recognizing his forward step and countering it with her own backward step-- finding pride in this and following then to his side step and backward tug, near barely stumbling within his grasp.

“Hmph--!” She tips her head up and away, feigning great offense, “You act as though I am but a brute, troupe master--” The smile that lifts the corners of her mouth, however, gives away her amusement at such a claim.

No one else was alive to approach this country, what was she to do, find a kingdom of the dead to show her grand status?

Following his stride, the two round to the music in a subtle turn--

One, two, three…

It’s not _that_ hard, she can follow this easy enough, right?

One, two, three…

Yes, this isn’t so difficult--

“Ah, I have said nothing of the sort, my lady, this is but to test if you should recall your dances of old. Tell me, what else have you forgotten in your time acting as defender of this land of fair ruin?” His tone lilts with curiosity, taunting, hissing with its ashen hum.

Scarlet gleaming eyes glow with that unearthly and unsettlingly bright fire, something that burned to stare at for too long before-- and yet now she could find a subtle warmth to be found in the moments where they would lock stares.

And her own, she knew it herself, the icy pitch glare she had once given him had since fallen faintly warmer, no leer or sneer to be found in expression. And her state of distrust fast to wilt before this warmth and its grand glinting heat as it built with the passing days.

She had to wonder to herself, why did she want to stay at the man’s side.

Why was it, that in the idle moments where the silence befell her, she could find a yearning for the man’s companionship to fill the hours, and make the draw of the day through to the night something easier. Anything but to roam this kingdom again, in a fruitless search for the living-- anything but the face of death glaring down on her within the confines of the underground ruins.

Was it the fact that he had helped her find the portrait so long lost, though it did not bear the image of her mother, it was something invaluable to her, to the knight as well-- something that sparked stories to tell Nymwae, and tell the glory of this country in its many years passed.

Was it moments like this; the idle moments of jest and taunting where they found the time best spent taunting the other and fighting the laughs that bubbled into place within their chests.

Was it the time she had spent in his study, comfortable enough in his company to sleep so soundly that he could so delicately carry her back to her home.

By the skies, what ever could it be that drew her to him.

Wait-- drew her to him?

Think about what you just said, Hornet-- oh, what ever has come over you, princess.

“You seem to have something on your mind, my lady--” Again they rounded into that fraction of a circle, curling round, and swaying now in one another’s grasp.

She jolts, caught in the midst of her inward contemplation as to what had beckoned her to spend the day in his company yet again. But her face, by some miracle to be thanked in an hour spent beyond the man’s view, does not draw rich with the dark ichor flowing through her, “Hmm? Ah, I was simply thinking--”

“May I perchance ask what should plague you in the midst of our dance?”

She floundered inwardly, what was true but did not depict her curiosity so openly to the other, anything but to deal with the drawing itch that would build should she lie to herself.

“I recalled our deal made before, and remembered my amusement found earlier this day--”

No itch or sweltering heat beneath her shell bubbled at her words, to which she let a long and low breath rush from her, earning an idle arch of the brow from the other. “Oh? And what should humor you about the dance we shared to end my great tyranny over my followers…?”

His tone held to its taunting hum, something that hugged the edge of teasing, finding mirth within his own circumstances.

“Ah, I had so believed I could perhaps persuade you toward the possibility of upping our deal toward showing kindness to your followers in place of indifference, but such a leap is certainly not possible, mm?”

She quirked her head to the side a bit, lifting gaze to meet back with his, jesting gently with truth and words masking her true thoughts to be had.

There was an exaggerated roll of his eyes, as though marking offense to be had at such a feat being impossible for a beast such as him. “I am amused you would believe me incapable of kindness to those that have devoted themselves to me-- you are not here at all hours of the day to watch the kindness shared”

She lets a laugh slip loose, eyes shutting with a dip of her head back, before letting the left side of her face pinch with a crooked smile, “So then you would be willing to up our deal then, mm?”

There is a chortle, rasping as per his norm, but eyes pressing shut briefly, a nod and eyes reopen to connect stares back with her as the two curl forward and around in this slow dance of regal days long since passed.

“I suppose, should I be given the correct tithe in place to ensure I have want to hold to such a tasking claim of my patience” His eyes roll, smirk picking path back into place, something that gets her gut to clench tight within her.

What is this feeling?

“Mm, and what should you so suggest, Grimm?”

Her steps hold to grace, carrying her round with him, no longer staggering or stumbling, but following his lead as though they were two dance partners long experienced with the other.

“Stay…”

And she falters.

“Wh-What…?”

His expression turns to that of genuine intention, firm in his honesty-- "Stay with me... stay at my side. Tonight I request it, if I am to hold to your chosen increase in benign nature toward my troupe’s denizens, then I must have something of worthy value given so that I will have no reason to act against your rules to our given deal"

She blinks, stumbling to a stop from their once graceful and fluid waltz, eyes drawing wide and face taking a deep flush that nears a charcoal shade. "But… why, I have no value to the troupe--"

She has no value to _him_ , why would he want her here for the evening. She was scarcely interesting company to be had-- was this to maintain his oath? Did he have a dire feeling of grim nature following him for the night?

Was something to happen to her?

Wait, did he even have that sort of ability?

"Incorrect, my lady, how are you to see if I have kept my oath to you to show your so said kindness to my followers if you are not here…?"

She flounders then, fumbling for words like a hatchling that had not yet learned to speak but had so much to say. Skies, what did she even respond to such a request with?

"I… err-- ehm, I-I--"

Come on, Hornet! Oh, Wyrm, she was making a fool of herself-- but she couldn’t quite connect her thoughts through into words, or so much as get beyond a single word that made its way through without stumbling over it.

Such a request had toppled her great facade of that of a collected, cool, and prestigious warrior of Hallownest crumbling to show the simple bug that stammered like a child before the class for their presentation.

"Stay with me... if only for this night… please..."

His tone fell softer then, warmer-- and it did little to quell the warmth flooding her face. Paired with the hand on her hip, and its companion grasping her opposite hand not settled on his shoulder-- she could swear that her face would gleam a true pitch hue before this conversation was finished. Stars, would she look akin to a shade with those gleaming white eyes-- she had to wonder.

But… she had dug this hole for herself, hiding her true thoughts with other thoughts to be had.

She supposed she had to lay in it-- did she not.

But she had to admit, such a prospect of staying the night, perhaps curling into his side to slumber as she had done before, it… did not seem to push her away. More so, it felt that it more drew her toward the idea…

(Did he sleep as Nymwae did? Curled up akin to a pet on the bed, or did he roost and hang from the ceiling as they had taken to as of recent--)

Wait, Hornet, come on, now it not the time for that--!

But with a drawn breath and a chuckle despite herself, she nods.

“I suppose with that logic, I must oblige your request… on the condition I am granted the freedom to sleep at your side this evening-- I doubt you’ve a bed fit for me, with how populated your troupe’s confines seem to be at least” Her tone hugged that of jest, but the flush to her face said anything but.

But what she had not expected was for his answer to be so quick--

No hesitation, but with nigh-perfect pacing, he nodded, eyes shutting briefly, “Then so it shall be done, Lady Hornet”

Dammit, Hornet.

Her hand clenched at the other’s, to which he gently ran his thumb over the back of her own.

Indeed, she had dug her own grave.

  
  


And with the hours passing, she watched the troupe whirl through their chores, repairing mechanisms, and practicing their choreography, building constructs to bring fiery bursts of red smokes to mimic that of the man’s own power so as to hide his true origin for their next show to be had should any of the bugs of the near set town dare come in for sheer sake of curiosity.

But exhaustion tugged at her, damn this mortal body--

Perhaps it was the fact that this grand orchestration of followers and this grand Higher Being of old, how they obeyed his every order, but he did not demand perfection as he had before.

Perhaps it was the many followers that swarmed her when she walked through the grounds, thanking her with bows of their heads, stuffing trinkets they had gathered in their journeys into her hands to take home with her.

That of which ranged from soft silk from foreign worlds, to silvery metal trinkets that of which she had never seen before-- and then to tomes of history of countries with names she had never heard before, such as that of Ashbarrow or Snowcrest.

Many she had to refuse, simply for the fact there were far too many for her to carry home, but it still meant that she had ended up with her arms full of the books, scarves, and trinkets of old nonetheless.

Another gifted her with a chest to contain the mess of gifts given for her capability to so tame their master and his cruelty as it had risen-- none said quite that, but in gazing into their eyes, she could almost feel the words crawling at the back of her mind.

Closing the chest, persuaded into taking more of the gifts to stow within the box’s confines, she breathed a hummed sigh, shaking her head at herself. Perhaps it was similar to that of how she could understand what the knight would say, or collect the near gist of what Nymwae would want for that evening.

“Does something vex you, my lady--”

Her head lifted, watching as her head turned round, following the path of the man behind her approaching her and the chest neatly set to the corner of the room to take with her on her journey back to the hut (She had already told the little knight that she would be out for the evening and watched them wave her off before they obliged her request and neatly shut the door behind her).

“Nothing quite vexes me, simply that I believe I am growing tired-- I certainly must be. Your followers are incapable of speech, and yet I believe to understand what they wish to say to me”

The taller of the two blinked as though surprised, “You’ve the capacity to understand them…?”

She blinked, rising to stand, “Yes…?” It was drawn an uncertain, but she did not make any move to take it back.

A semblance of confusion crossed his face, followed then by deep thought, then realization, and lastly a startled sense of mirth.

“Seems they believe you to be a member of the troupe-- only those that share my blessing to be within the troupe grounds can understand the denizens--”

Her brow furrowed deep in thought, considering his words with heavy eyes, a soft hum of deep thought leaving her.

“Come, you seem quite exhausted, my lady… you may use my bed for the evening-- if you should not mind sharing? Lest you do, I will simply roost this night--”

Something panged within her, rolling in her gut at the concept of coming this far into spending the night with him and not following through the full grounds to curl into his side and wind arms about his waist--

And yet, something fiery bloomed in her belly at such a thought, and it was damnably hard to admit she could not fight the subtle flush that painted her face at her self deigned flustering.

“I… would not mind that...”

“Mm?”

Her voice rose from its barely audible murmur to draw in a breath and, clutching the hem of her cloak, she exhaled slow, “I would not… mind that”

Eyes lifted to catch his expression as it bloomed through to amusement and a… stars, was that a gentle expression of something so subtly warm in place of its dangerously fiery many other companions.

What was that… was it similar to what she herself felt?

In place of some witty retort to fluster her further, he simply seemed to idly bow to her, arm extending to offer the direction toward a room beyond a cloth hidden doorway, one of which she could swear had not been there before on her last visit.

There is little said from there, as the man strides with his ethereal sense of grace, and slips over to curl knees up and settle on the side of his bed, a flick of his wrist and the blankets coil back and he is curled almost akin to what you might picture that of a painting’s image within the blankets-- complete with the ever standing grace that left Hornet remembering she was still… unmistakably…

Mortal…

Pay not attention to the fact she had lived as long as she had… they were from two entirely different worlds.

And yet, here she dared to step nearer and grasp the blankets that curled over the man, face flush beyond a heat she had ever known to cross her face, as she sits on the bed’s edge and with a soft yawn lies on its plush surface that puts her cot to shame. 

Hmm-- funny, he had said... she needed his blessing to be seen as a member of the troupe... and yet the troupe saw her as one of their own

Hmhmm-- a subtle chuckle as she began to doze at last--

Should seem... he saw her as... one of his own... 

It’s little time before her form goes slack with sleep weighting her.

Her form holds almost small compared to Grimm’s own, and a subtle murmur, and the great Daughter of Hallownest is asleep and curled comfortably beneath the weight of silken blankets.

  
  


Hours pass, he does not know how many, but she stirs, tucked beneath the blankets, knees curled to her chest, she feels almost chill to the touch, but all feel cool to the touch compared to him-- alas, she in her presence alone seems to radiate a certain chill air.

His eyes open as a shiver wracks her form, extending his arm silently to grasp blankets and tug them higher over the woman, exhaling slow, but he can see a draw to her form.

There is a soft noise as she stirs further and rolls over to face him and he nigh freezes, what does he do… he has not shared a bed to so gently rest through the night in… well… ever. And yet here she was coiling toward him, think, Grimm, think--

She scoots nearer, as exhaustion has robbed her of her senseless attachment to her prideful nature, and drawn to this tremendous warmth from the other, her brow nestles to the man’s chest, seeming to catch his breath and freeze it to a halt in his chest.

There is a subtle noise of contentment from her, her breath exhaling before she draws in his scent, and he exhales the breath caught tight in his chest, arm lowering from its place extending with the blankets lifted, releasing his grasp on them, he ponders a moment.

Why was she so… comfortable in his company, he had only shown genuine kindness to her-- no other, and yet they had dueled, she had seen a glimpse of his true self, she _knew_ what he was.

And yet she trusted him…

Exhaling slow, once more, his arm coils in and laces about her shoulders, lying over the blankets, and allows his hand to nestle its place settled between her horns.

She… trusted him…

_Him…_

Nightmare King, abhorrent beast of the realms, and yet--

He had slain so many, lain villages to waste for his sister’s sake, followed her commands, forced to cruelty by her hands, and yet…

To think of such harm coming to this one curled to his chest… the agony that bloomed within his carapace near sent his form’s heat to spike and ignite his bed in the fury. But with the subtle noise of discomfort as the heat rose, it was quick to fall and draw a subtle exhale from her as comfort returned back over her form and sleep so gently kept her curled to his chest.

No…

No such fate would befall this one.

He would perish before such a terrible cruelty could befall this world.

His hand gives a subtle brush over the back of her head and allows eyes to themselves press shut.

He would protect you to his last breath, Lady Hornet. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this chapter with 'Coming Up Roses' by Eliza Rickman on loop, so it may be a good idea to listen to it to catch the full effect of the chapter. I've been aching for a chapter like this since the beginning, had it planned since the beginning-- 
> 
> Looking forward to the next chapter, it's likely to be a two parter, but--! 
> 
> Look forward to the chapter 'Coronation', hope you guys like the flashback chapters because this is going to be one hell of a chapter.


	14. Coronation (Part 1)

A red gown--

Sweeping layers that trailed behind her in gauzy tiers, and sleeves that flowed akin to the morning breeze, and the grand cloak she was to wear over it as this tradition so spoke--

Something chosen from deep within the far kingdom of Deepnest’s royal grounds, a combination between the two cultures for the attire of chosen royals--

From Hallownest, it was a robe of grand design, raiments that nigh mirrored her father's own instead stitched delicately into that of a gown-- in this shocking blossom of red to mark her as that royal blood, opposed to the many clad in dark slate tones.

Her mother had chosen violet tones and the soft shades of blue that would cloak her best in the depths of Deepnest, whereas Hornet had always been fond of red-- it made the tradition of a red gown for one’s coronation all the better-- a symbol of the young coming of age and accepting the world as their responsibility.

Hand extended to run palm over the gown’s fabric, grasping it in a slim hand, and running fingers over its near divinely soft material.

All this for one day and then the rest of her days stuck in the palace to delegate the workings of the kingdom and its people. A shiver raced down her entire being and pooled a hard stone in her gut at the thought of not bounding through the wild grounds of Greenpath.

But ah, it was far too late to protest such a change-- perhaps she could act as her father did and steal away into the kingdom when the Kingsmoulds were not paying the closest attention, their heads drooping with boredom, and then the siren song of sleep, and jerking up to find the king missing in the next moment.

She ran her thumb over the fabric again--

Normally she would have giggled at the fact it was a regular occurrence that only the eldest of guards had come to know the signs for, and even then, did little to stop him, knowing he was a patient man and they were only bugs.

But a looming sense of dread hung over her at the idea of that being her fate.

Was it really then to live as a royal, or was it living in a glorified cage?

Hand began to tighten about the fabric, a tremor washing its path down her being…

“Hornet…?”

And it’s an instant that shoulders slacken and Hornet’s grasp on the gown’s still unrumpled fabric is released, leaving it to hang about the mannequin, but leaving her fingers to run down it and hang its hand then at her side, a shaky breath before her head lifted and turned round--

Standing at her tremendous and grand height, her mother, warrior of legend-- the Beast herself, stood with pedipalps pressed to the frame of the towering doorframe’s side. And she could almost see the concern painting its path across her face beneath her mask--

A full turn to face the Weaver Queen and Hornet remained silent, incapable of finding the right words in that moment to sate her mother’s growing concern.

Stepping nearer, Herrah dipped her head beneath the frame’s upper frame, and Hornet could not help but turn her head with a slow breath, the red gown behind her nigh glaring in the corner of her vision.

She had the burning need to claw at it, lash out--

_Something…_

“Hornet, my child--” There was no sound of concern, simply bemusement that flittered through her voice, the tremendous spider moving to lean nearer, a set of arms extending to reach out and gently brush the hand beneath princess’ chin, “--it is alright.”

No, it wasn’t.

“It is normal to know uncertainty in such a time as this, your coronation is a grand time in your life”

It wasn’t the coronation she feared…

Hell, she could come to terms with living trapped away in a grand prison of the palace were it not for the fact that tomorrow were the very last day she would have the gift of speaking with her mother.

She had found them-- she knew just what it meant, that time had run out for this immortal kingdom, that the Radiance would come in and scorch away free will to all incapable of standing against her fiery onslaught.

She had heard stories of what that had done to the people, what it had done to all of bugkind, and the tribes that had welcomed her, but she had heard the stories from her father detailing just what it took to survive such an encounter…

God blood…

The very ichor coursing through her veins would be the only thing to save her should the Radiance succeed in her attack on this realm.

But it would not save her if she so much as considered razing the kingdom to the ground.

She had marked the day of her attack, informed them to make their last acts of this world count, and to deliver that very onslaught. But she had not given a day, she had given them their warning, and attacked the week prior--

Much of Kingdom’s Edge had been lain to little more than ash before they had captured her, many of the Kingsmoulds destroyed in the process. But she had been captured…

The tomb they’d spent so many of their valuable resources sculpting to be impenetrable burned hot with her fiery rage, the spells within only partly active, the howling screams of the entombed goddess had driven near everyone from the Crossroads, and left the people to in turn build a tremendous shell to encase her grand coffin.

It was almost done… almost perfect… almost complete and all that meant was that they would need a sacrifice to keep the burning essence of the Higher Being trapped--

Hopefully forever.

At the cost of the three to act as the living locks to keep its grand temple sealed, and one hollow entity to seal her away.

Monomon, The Teacher

Lurien, The Watcher

And the last of which that clawed at her…

Herrah, The Beast…

Her mother, promised a child so as to carry on her line, given Hornet as her end of the bargain to be then the only deed yet fulfilled.

Lurien’s tower had been fitted with those willing to guard him with their lives, Monomon’s Archive declared fit to act as her last resting place for the sheer level of danger that swathed over just attempting to get through the first levels.

But Herrah… her mother, had been left as that of expected to be safe within the magnificent nest she had made high above the watery pits of Deepnest, where the elite of the elite hung their spun webs to tuck away and rest their heads for the night.

‘ _She would have to be found’_ , she told her. ‘ _They would have to come and try to get her, come through the mazes, get past the many guards--’_ she said. _‘It’ll be alright, Hornet’_

_No, it wouldn’t!_

Something was going to go wrong, how else could she explain this pit forming in her gut at the every moment that she so much as began to think of a world without her mother among her people to protect and guide them.

And if that wasn’t the worst of it, tomorrow… they all went to sleep…

Her coronation was to be set before their great sleep, father wouldn’t explain why, nor had he heard her pleas to find someone else, to stop this and think about what was to come. Postpone the start of the eternal slumber’s ceremony, let her mother watch the coronation at the very least--

He’d shaken his head, refused to speak, and denied her every attempt to make him see reason.

This was not her father, where had the man of such great kindness gone--

She wasn’t ready to let go of her mother just yet, _please_!

But no matter what, he refused to listen, before long he had stopped seeing any of the members of his court, refusing even Herrah and the other Dreamers to be-- and after that… refused even Hornet’s audience.

This was wrong… _wrong…_

“ _Hornet--”_

Her mother’s voice snapped her from quick spiraling thoughts, concern rolling off her form, “This is not simply about the coronation… is it”

Her head shook, short and curt-- though the concept of becoming queen so soon after her adult molting, it scared her… to lose her freedom vexed her, but to lose her _mother_ \--

“I am not ready… for this--” Her arm fanning out toward the gown behind her, and the crown resting on the mannequin’s head, and back to hanging at her side, a shake of her head and she let it drop forward a bit, fists clenching tight, “I’m not ready… to run the kingdom--”

“I’m not… ready for you to go”

The warrior of old gave a visible slump forward, shoulders deflating and form treading nearer to curl to knees and kneel before her daughter, the scent of salt and tears in the air as a facade that the Beast had been holding seemed to crack and falter.

Hornet’s brow furrowed, knitting expression tight as eyes pressed shut, frustration and a broiling fear welled in her gut and burned behind the bridge of her helm-- she was angry, she wasn’t ready for this, not any of this!

Why wouldn’t he just _fucking_ listen to her!?

“Father will not listen to me, I cannot change his mind to find another, he swears that you are the only he can place such a task upon from this sector of the kingdom-- at least, twas the last he told me when we last spoke.”

That frustration bloomed further into fury, and as a hand moved to land on her shoulder, there was a part of her that stayed furious-- damning this entire foolish ploy to seal a god and stop a sickening infection that may as well wipe out all of bugkind, from this kingdom, and spread to the next.

But as it made contact, forcing herself not to jerk away, she exhaled her fury to feel the burning sorrow bloom up beneath it.

_T_ _o lose Herrah…_

… _would break her._

Her carapace seemed to ache, that icy pit weighting in her throat and dragging down fury to replace its weight behind her brow, so much of the kingdom was falling to nothing, at least for her it was.

Inky blackness welled at the corners of tightly pinched eyes, breath hitching as they spilled free, “This will take you, and it will take the Hollow Knight--” Her breath shuddered as pitch eyes reopened to lock with her mother’s, head lifting and shoulders falling slack.

“ _Mama… I won’t have anyone left”_

A sob wracked her body, stumbling forward as her mother breathed a soft noise of this achingly deep sympathy that swelled within her being, and in the next moment, she was pulled nearer, embraced tight within the woman’s powerful arms, those of which had cradled her when she was but a hatchling.

“I’m so sorry, Hornet… there’s no other option” And she could feel the subtle shake of her head, the woman allowing the clear rivulets to trail down beneath her mask and drip free to splash on the floor beneath her.

It was all she repeated then, ‘I’m sorry’…

She knew she was, but there was still some part of her that felt… bitter.

Pressing back from her, her mother drew a steadying breath, her eyes watery beneath her mask and a slow shake of her head, one that Hornet herself had drawn to claim as one of her own habits amid her less than stable moments, where tears and agony overwhelmed her emotions such as they had her mother in this moment.

“I cannot so simply spend this last few precious hours in tears, my child-- the King has alerted me that tomorrow is to be your coronation, that of which we have both long since known, buit there is something I must give you before I cannot”

Hornet did not lift her head, eyes still burning with pitch tears that dribbled down her cheeks, eyes pressing open, but staring holes into the floor before her and not quite meeting gazes with the woman’s form before her.

Leaning back, Herrah seemed to fish for something within her own cloak, drawing a neatly wrapped bundle of silken fabric from within the confines of her robes and the glint of shocking red calling her attention from the floor if only for a moment before at last pitch eyes met with her mother’s and flitted away.

Pedipalps reached out, grasping Hornet’s own and carefully pressed the small package into her own, she didn’t want to take it, she didn’t want it, this meant a final goodbye was coming. Her eyes pinched tight shut, feeling the silk wound gift press into her hands and the woman’s own leave from about hers.

She didn’t want it.

She didn’t want to hold it, she didn’t even want to look at it.

“We’ve limited time left, my daughter--”

She knew this, she didn’t want to know it, but she did, and everything in her screamed for her to drop the gift in her hands. Leave it on the ground, turn and run, do _something_.

But she knew the time that would waste, what damage it would cause in place of any good-- she was better to deal with this aching pain that wracked her being than to fight it, what could she do?

With a goddess captured and the time she could spend with her loved ones running short, she was better to simply take the strikes dealt to her than to lash out and burn the precious hours remaining.

Hands flared out fingers and lifted to accept the gift, winding blindly within the silk’s fabric, and finding the tidy little knot tied in its corners, exhaling breath and remaining still despite her best attempt to force her mind to demand the movement that did not come.

And it took a minute, screaming internally at herself to grasp the edges of the gift’s edges and see what lay hidden beneath the shocking red, her hands at last moved and thumbs hooked beneath the edges of the silk and with the subtlest press-- the fabric woven by the finest of weaver’s silk, glided apart, knot coming undone without so much as a wrinkle to mark where the knot had last lain.

Her fingers grasped the odd shape within the cloth’s confines, something ornate and cold to the touch, weighty-- why it almost felt like jewelry.

Peculiar in a sense, mother knew how dearly she loathed jewelry, what reason did she have for it, such ore could be sold to better the people. Why would she commission a piece that she knew Hornet would never even consider wearing--

But as she peeled back the layers and unwound it from within the silken fabric, her breath froze in her chest.

The crest of Deepnest was carved from intricate pale metal, stark white over a crimson jewel, a pin-- or could she call it a brooch, the weaver’s legs wound in delicate flora and its thorny vines, a merging of two worlds; that of Deepnest and that of the Pale King’s eternal kingdom.

An everlasting reminder of who she really was.

“My mother… before she stepped down as the reigning queen, gave this pin to me to clasp at my shoulder for all days I would need a reminder of who and what I was. Before that, her mother gave it to her… and her mother before her. Since the very beginning of our treaty with the Pale King and this eternal civilization…”

The tears burned at the corners of her eyes, no longer in frustration… but true sorrow.

Honor tinged the now gleaming tears, no longer pitch in their hue but glistening and white, glowing as the very shell of the Pale King and his children did. But this terrible pain that surged in her chest…

It was too early for her to receive such a brooch, too early for her to be marked as queen.

Too early for any of this--

She couldn’t take this and yet…

Her hands clasped about it, clutching it to her chest as a shaky sob wracked her being.

She couldn’t dare make herself let go of it.

Herrah’s pedipalps reached out, gently tugging Hornet near as gleaming tears drew their pristine paths down her helm, and left her to shudder with sobs that choked on the cusp of open cries of sorrow.

Why did it have to be like this.

Why did she have to come _back_.

Arms uncoiled from about Hornet, her hands still clutching the gift and its silk to her chest, lifting her head to gaze up at the woman, she watched her own hands draw nearer to grasp Hornet’s own and unfold them.

“It is an old tradition… but it is one I needed to give unto you before I am to be lain to rest for the sake of the kingdom”

She bit her tongue, damn this kingdom, damn it and everyone else-- she couldn’t lose everyone else in this day.

Grasping the brooch, her mother carefully lifted it, and settled it tidily on Hornet’s shoulder, grasping the two sides of her cloak’s material and lancing the pin through the fabric, clasping it and carefully brushing down the fabric to lay back flat over her shoulder.

She could still smell the salt of the tears running down beneath Herrrah’s mask, wishing she were but any other bug, and not the daughter of Hallownest.

“Do not weep, my child… a queen never weeps before her subjects”

Her eyes drew shut as a hand drew near to brush aside her tears, head bowing, and pressing into her mother’s chest.

She was far from queen yet…

And so her tears continued to spill

  
  


The final assembly had gone without a hitch, hard to be a finicky and flighty model when said model is little more than upset at the future to come within the few hours she had left holding the status of princess.

But she was not the only one receiving her final dressing this day.

The sight of the grand and towering form standing before the sleek mirror before the both of them as the blacksmith and tailor, two of the greatest men in the kingdom, worked side by side to craft the most ethereal and everlasting suit of armor to fit to the chosen vessel to contain the Radiance.

This was not the final fitting, this was not the final adjustments… this was the final assembly of this armor before they would be…

Would be…

Their head turned, looking to her as she stepped nearer to the far taller of their father’s children. He swore… that by his very being, he knew this would work, that the vessel he had crafted and brought to fruition was nothing if not perfect--

Truly… hollow.

But lifting her head, craning her neck to stare high and glimpsing into those eyes, and seeing the fear that tinged in their pitch hues…

How could one man be so blind--

No-- she gives a hard shake of her head, exhaling long and slow, much to the distress of the tailor directing Hornet’s handmaidens, those of which have long since known her to be fairly difficult all her life to dress into gowns like this. Always had been, always would be.

She gave a subtle lift of her hand from amid their place within the flowing sleeves of the robes, stepping from her pedestal to glide down the stairs and round the growingly frustrated tailor, idly slipping round him as he stamped his heel indignantly, yelling something on how he had never had to deal with such indignant behavior before such a tremendous occasion-- get back over here, and the whole nine yards--

Nothing unfamiliar as far as Hornet was concerned.

“My work is incomplete! You _must_ come back to your pedestal this _instant_ , your grace!”

Again she moved to ignore him, Akival-- the old tailor of legend that had designed the robes the White lady had worn on her wedding to the Pale King, or at least, his great, great, great, great, great grandfather had-- he was just so lucky as to bear the same name as him.

She had heard from her father that he bore the same skill, or the skill something similar to his-- no one could have the same skill, perhaps something similar with a glow to rival, but never the same-- all these bugs were astoundingly different in their own ways, and a bit of it left her to almost feel a bit jealous of the glory they could acquire in such a short amount of time.

Her hand lifted, moving to shush the man, but he threw arms in the air and stormed away with a haughty cry of disbelief, given such a sight a giggle from Hornet would have flitted free, would have being the key word.

Raised hand lowered, faltering, a slow outward breath before attention shifted back to her subject of intrigue, the towering knight of legend that had stood at their father’s side for the last few decades as she had, and allowed her opposite hand to lift as she approached, gingerly running hand down the pristine white fabric of their cloak’s flowing material.

Their head turned to look down to her, a semblance of confusion behind those dark eyes before recognizing her hand in its draw, “You look worthy of a statue, hallowed knight” Her tone hugged that of jesting, but there lingered a certain earnesty that rang too true to be simply a sibling’s teasing.

They remained gazing down at her a moment longer, looking then to the exquisite mirror and drawing a long and slow breath.

Yeah…

Her too…

  
  


“Father…?”

Searching for the man had been something on the cusp of nigh impossible, flitting through the halls to clamber with impossible grace over the towering walls, clad in her queen-to-be’s garb.

He had not been in his office, nor had he been in the library as she had seen him countless other hours, but here… she could swear she head the man’s voice over the rolling clouds and humming beyond a far set door.

“Father, I must speak with you…” She called aloud, but with no response, her brow furrowed.

She knew she could be quiet, but this was not one of those moments.

Bounding as though the wind carried her, her being drifted with grace on the cusp of spider’s silk in the wind, glimmering and untethered by any weight of this realm’s manifestation. Rebounding, she kicked off of a high set column and landed to grasp the edge of a tremendous sculpted wall, and knit fingers into the molding’s detail before with a firm noise in her throat, she hefted herself high and over its edge to glance about the grounds before her.

She spotted it, a gleam of the familiar white robes, the man’s form seated in a chair tucked close before a desk’s form, that of which seemed strewn with papers and their many indiscernible blueprints and many spells.

Hand to the column nearest her, she drew in breath, moving to call out to the man but froze.

“Wyrm… you cannot do this…”

The void in her chest seemed to surge, the familiar voice catching her attention before she hunkered low, drawing back on her mother’s lessons given to her in moments to hone her skills as a huntress though she would never need such gifts with the luxury of the palace to carry her.

Her eyes at last caught a full view of her father’s form, that of which seemed almost… slumped in his chair. The sight alone drew her brow to furrow…

His eyes were shut, arms draped over the arms of his chair, and breath seeming almost haggard, “I know…”

“She is barely out of her adult molt, how is she to run a kingdom when she is still but a girl--”

The familiar voice seemed to cusp on the edge of wanting to tear into the man, the click of mandibles audible and the form of a figure swathed in crimson standing before the man’s desk, head obscured by the flora before Hornet’s being, that of which barely obscured her from the man’s view.

Their breath drew in to move to snap some other call at the man’s logic to drag it down on such a momentous day.

Alas, the king’s own voice drew to snap back, rasping with a mortal draw to his words, “I _know…_ ”

And Hornet’s brow drew in taut with a firm knit, furrowing in confusion as she allowed the pieces to click together, the rasp of his voice, the sickly stature he carried himself in that moment, and the sheer fact that the man’s form did not seem to quite gleam as it had before--

The want Hornet had once carried, wanting to lash into him and plead for this ceremony to be cut away, perhaps leave her as but a simple bug, disown her-- anything so that she may stand by her mother’s side in the moments where she would fall into her eternal dreaming state… faded.

In its place, a new concern bubbled and carried a deep-set fear with it.

What had… happened to the man…?

He pushed at his chair, faltering, and losing grasp on a wracking cough that took to violently shaking his form, figure seeming to almost fold in on itself as he strained to draw breath.

The figure clad in red drew round the desk to help him from the seat, to which the Pale King seemed to fight it, indignant in his state of being and fighting with everything her still had to remain self-standing and capable of so much as holding himself on his many legs by himself.

“I do not need your _help_ ”

His brow had furrowed, and a feeble push at the other’s form his breath shook from him, hand clasping a black stained cloth tight in his grasp to press it to his mouth and swipe away at the pitch fluid that spilled from the corner of his mouth.

“You say as much, and yet you can hardly stand…” The figure drew a deep sigh, carefully helping the man to his feet before stepping back.

“If you complete this sealing today… this will take everything from you”

What…

He shook his head, hands planted on the desk’s edge to support himself, “There is no other option… you have your rituals… I have mine.”

“Wyrm--”

“Go…”

The figure faltered, “I… beg your pardon…?”

“ _Go_ … the coronation begins within the hour, and I’ve yet to begin the sealing”

Again the figure seemed to step closer, “If you do this, there will _be_ no coronation, you will be dead before she can be crowned, Wyrm--”

And there was a flickering wash of blinding black light, the king himself howling with a building fury, _“GO!_ ” And as his form flickered back, outside of his control, to the faltering king trying his damnedest not to slump to the table’s edge, again that wracking cough tore through his form.

Elbows threatened to buckle, arms giving way beneath him, and head bowing as shoulders shook from the sheer force of the onslaught of shallow breaths and deep and tearing hacking and growingly wet sounding wheezes for breath.

“I do not have time… to second guess everything I have worked for… when I have but hours left, Nightmare King… go… _please_...”

To hear him plead…

It tore at something deep within Hornet’s being, brow furrowing as she fought a building panic in her chest.

This… this was all because of her.

Had she not been the fragile egg she had been before her hatching… this would not have happened, he would still have the power to go on, to rule the country, to stamp back the Radiance and not need this damnable seal to close away the knight behind a prison of stone.

~~This… is all your fault…~~

Shaking her head, pinching eyes shut, a resolute force of will instead welling deep in her gut.

~~Coward~~

No--!

~~You can’t even handle a fate that the knight was made to face~~

_No_!

She could do this, she knew she could!

If she could face the sealing… if her father was dying… she had to face the prospect of being queen.

She had to do _something…_

This would be all she had left…

If she didn’t succeed in this, all of Hallownest would fall… and it would be her fault.

Watching the man push from his chair as a whirlwind of red plumed into view and the figure vanished, she gave a subtle nod of her head.

She would not follow the handmaidens this night to the coronation as she was expected...

No.

She would face the sealing of the hollow knight and the Radiance within.

As a queen should…


	15. Coronation (Part 2)

Not a soul had been seen outside of their homes, nigh every citizen of the fair kingdom turning their attention to the coronation to switch the hands of control from one set of hands to another, even the beasts of the kingdom seeming to know just the nature of the events at hand this day.

But what drew an eerie air… was the usually bustling crossroads drawn to perfect silence with nary a creature to be seen roaming its grand paths.

Just as he had ordered it.

Drawing a long and deep breath, steadying himself, the Pale King scoured the grounds with a last pass of his stare, turning his attention from the tunnel outside of the grand black temple, toward its entryway, and passed beneath with the set of Kingsmoulds at his sides and the perfect knight he had brought into this world before him to lead the triad behind them without fear.

Some part of him felt guilt in sealing away the creation born of the void; the very last surviving of those he had brought into being for the purpose of this very act that should follow. No, it had been a deal he had made with the Void itself, one of its own for this act to save all that could be so unlucky as to fall into her hands.

At the cost of the millions that he had come to call his own, he supposed it was the cost of being a god, to be a man of the very few that could know what it was like to pick who lived and who died.

It wasn’t that he hadn’t loved them, oh he had loved every last one of them-- but he’d been so forced to stop himself from naming the every one of them, knowing they would not survive to their very first year-- it hurt too much to recall on it without feeling himself want to fall toward an achingly deep depression.

That of which he had no time to entertain, lest he burn through the few hours he had left.

His deal, he supposed he could call it that-- had been that the Abyss would give unto him but a handful of their children so as to negate the end of days as this return of the Radiance could so easily become-- but once he chose the one that would become his vessel--

The remainder were to be returned to her…

He had asked before, on how they were to be returned… and horror had wrought its path deep through his gut at the answer he had been given.

_The body of the vessels must be destroyed to release the fragment of shadow within…_

He would have to… kill them…?

But-- _no_!

No! Those were his children as well! This wasn’t fair it wasn’t--

“Your Majesty…?”

His head jolted upright, eyes wide turning attention to the guard at his side, the Kingsmould, among the few of them that had the capability of speech-- a feat of which he was incredibly proud of to this day.

Its voice was halting, unsteady, barely there, but smooth in a different sense of the word-- the way the foam of coursing waters could be seen as frothing and smooth, and yet wildly unsteady and dangerous.

The knight had stopped at the call of the Kingsmould, head turning to0 survey the situation, and listening with the faint glance back as the creation of the king himself asked with halting words, “You seem deep in thought… are you... alright, my King"

Could he call himself alright in this moment, _was_ he alright?

No, he knew that answer.

He was an old man that was dying before the eyes of these knights he had built from the nothingness of the void given to him. And he had no means to try and counter it, no grounds to try and slow its tearing pull on him, but it was not what he feared.

What he feared in this moment, was the very concept that this damnable idea he had had from centuries before-- that this ploy he’d dreamt up would not work and _she_ would tear through her prison of stone to lay waste to the remainder of the kingdom he had built--

And leave him for last.

So he lied…

“I am fine…. you have my thanks for such concern…” He had to catch himself, the words of familial denotation, this is not your child, Wyrm… do not let your attachment for a construct of your creation show, you old fool.

Eyes shifted to the towering temple of the Radiance’s current tomb, and what he could only hope to be the final resting place of the old wretch.

He could almost feel the beginning of words on the other’s breath, and raised a lone hand, instead stepping toward the otherworldly structure of godly design that he had directed the people to construct, and watching the door seem to anticipate his approach-- the door within lifting from its place to slide aside and bare the screeching wail that had been trapped within to the open air.

It was enough to make a lesser bug crumple to their knees and collapse to the floor, clutching their heads betwixt clawing hands and howling aloud as though they themselves were the entity in agony within--

Though he knew this howling cry to be anything but agony, this was a cry of absolute fury on his faintest of scent treading even faintly nearer over the breeze.

Ear canals oozed the pitch ichor at the edges of his helm, drooling down with an idle trickle he paid no mind to. A wave of his hand and a fiery white wall of energy shot forward, through and into the blackness of the far set temple’s tomb, and in moments, the howling shriek drew to perfect silence.

The act of it, any semblance of concern for his well being drew to perfect silence, the guards he had brought along at his sides staring on with an idle sense of awe, their eyes wide beneath their helms, and stepping nearer toward the wall of white, only to follow after him as he had.

It was everything he had in him not to simply collapse in that moment, so much of that blast had been nigh everything he had left. But he knew that to be a lie. He still had very much more to give… but to give it all would kill him…

Good… at least then he could die knowing she was sealed and gone to keep his kingdom alive and thriving… to keep his work going… and keep his daughter alive and well.

He could die happily in his throne, watching Hornet step toward the throne with her crown settled about her horns… as it should be.

Stepping through the threshold of the tremendous structure, he turned his head to face the perfect vessel for this beast of a Higher Being, that of which… drew a subtle frown to furrow his brow.

The towering figure lingered at the far reaches of the temple’s grounds… chest drawing in a long and deep breath, before stepping toward the king as he rose his hand to beckon the other nearer.

It was odd, to say the least-- it felt almost as though the entity of true emptiness he had created from the Abyss’ very ichor…

 _Feared…_ what was to come.

No, _no-- nonono_

This was not what was happening, there was no time to fix this, there was nothing to be done to remedy this kind of atrocity. This was not happening, this had never happened before.

And there was a swelling rush of a burning itch that swelled up, around, and over his shell-- as though he had himself told a lie… without even opening his mouth.

He resisted the urge to lift claws and dig at the helm of his shell, but the stare he gives to his knight remains on the cusp of something cold, his pitch eyes locked on their form before they seem to catch notice of it, drawing pause and lifting their head as though they had not drawn to a perfect stillness in the moments before.

As they drew nearer, he ignored it but he could swear he had seen an almost tremor roll over their form… and wiped it from his mind.

There was nothing he could do in the moment but pray it was a figment of his imagination, or perhaps of her workings and an attempt to try and sway him from his path, knowing he was so close to success.

Something so subtle… it could only be her work… nothing so precise could happen so close to the culmination of this lifetime’s work.

It had to be…

_It had to be…_

  
  


He was a hard fellow to keep up with, she had to give him that much, but there was something wrong about how he moved… his grace seemed almost… jerky in a sense. Hornet’s brow furrowed, edging round the stone column supporting the edge of the crossroad’s lone longest tunnel before spying the company surrounding the short-statured King.

Usually, the rolling curl of his tail held a certain mischievous coil, or the man kept well in front of his so said ‘guards’ and gave them one hell of a time trying to find him when he managed to get out from within their well-kept circle.

But this… that coughing fit he had, the almost sluggish draw to his pace, how the guards themselves seemed to need to slow their pace in order to keep up with him…

What was wrong…

~~He’s dying…~~

No, he couldn’t be… gods could not die!

~~It’s your fault…~~

No…

~~It’s all _your fault…_~~

_No!_

Breath drew haggard into her chest as fear welled weighty within her gut and drew her to slide from about the pillar’s protection and hike the skirts of this grand and elaborate dress, carrying them in one arm with a beloved weapon she had spent many a day training with her mother in her youth in the other hand.

Bolting, she ran for the temple, the near-silent draw of her steps abandoned in place of speed--

No, she needed to get further… she needed to pick up her pace, she could see the door to the raging goddess’ tomb glide open, lifting out of path of the screaming howls muffled once by its weight and baring the great pitch path nearer toward the Higher Being that sought the collapse of this grand kingdom.

She had limited time, she wouldn’t make it just by running with this damnable dress in her arms.

A slash and the flowing robe of the gown fluttered in the breeze behind her as she sprinted now, unburdened by its weight.

A spin of silk, and she threw it with fumbling precision, landing it just above the temple’s entryway, and giving a hard wrenching pull, her form lifted from the ground and soared through the air.

Yes--!

Closer to her goal-- alas, how was she supposed to stop herself--?

As she soared through the air she could catch the details of the room beyond in growingly pristine exposition-- dammit Hornet!

Flailing her limbs, a shriek and she tumbled through the temple’s open doorway, the detail of guards surrounding her father spinning round, including the knight at the doorway’s frame, reaching for their blade before eyes drew wide at the sight of Hornet’s form flying through the air and--

The tremendous nail flew from the knight’s hand and clattered on the ground with an unwieldy clang and the siblings’ forms collapsed in a heap over one another, a fumbling slew of sputtered apologies leaving the far shorter of the two.

“ _Hornet_ …?”

Stuttered apologies fumbled to a stop, the grand queen-to-be toppled in a now destroyed gown lying over her father’s magnum opus, whom seemed just as disoriented by the impact as Hornet did.

She knew that tone… to say that she was in trouble was… glancing up from the floor, and pushing to try and untangle herself from her sibling, well, she believed that to be an understatement. Where she expected a glare, a disappointed downward directed leer, indifference-- but the stare of wide-eyed and icy striking shock said something far more grave.

“Hornet… you… you cannot be here…” He moved to step nearer, with an air about him that read the fiery panic that had begun to build deep within his chest. His eyes searched over her with hands lifting as though searching for something to try and steady them on, for something to fix, some place his magic could dart to to repair the damage she had caused.

But there was nothing he could fix

Her damage had already been done.

~~Look at what you’ve done--~~

Scrambling in stumbling pushes to try and untangle herself from over the vessel’s being to fumble to her feet and smooth out the hastily trimmed gown’s, hands curling into clenching fists to steady herself for any venom that may come-- he had never been a man to howl his fury, never one to lash out, never one to scream his rage… but here…

She could swear she had earned it.

“Your gown… stars, it’s… you cannot be here-- the coronation is but an hour away, this can not be repaired in time-- _why did you come here,_ she could tell you’re here” The in place pacing, veering from one direction to the left, his anger peeking through in but a moment before fear resurfaced to scour it back down beneath its weight.

Pitch eyes met with Hornet’s, not expecting an answer but receiving one in turn--

“You stated I was to be the crowned Queen of this kingdom, but you gave me no reason why I must be crowned so soon--” She drew a deep breath, attention turning to the Vessel still partly dazed and offered a hand to her sibling, attempting to pull them to their feet as the hand found its way enveloping her own.

As the pure vessel clambered to their full height, a ruffle of their cloak knocking all earth from it in a single graceful plume, eyes shifting between their fath-- creator… and Hornet’s form.

Her eyes, in turn, flitted to the guards around him, and though her grasp on the language was that of a child’s understanding of it-- the tongue switched from that of mortal bug kind, to the language of Higher Beings.

“ _Father… I saw your conversation with the Nightmare King in the workshop… you are ill and did not tell me… if I am to be Queen, I must ensure that the radiance is sealed, must I not…?”_

His brow furrowed, frustration at last bleeding into the facets of his visage.

He said nothing, instead heaving a long and low breath, fists clenched so tightly she could swear she spied black ichor ooze from a newly formed split in the shell from where his claws had dug into the more pliable surface.

“ _I have no… knowledge, as to whether or not she will be able to overtake your will in a walking r unconscious state… Hornet… it is not safe--”_

“ _Father, the entire kingdom could fall into peril if this is not done correctly, you told me so yourself!”_ Her voice sang with the language akin to a sweet and echoing melody, the tongue of the gods humming and unearthly in its cadence.

And she stepped nearer, fists clenched tight, brow furrowing tight, _“I am not leaving… if you want me gone, you will have to force me to leave yourself, else I will ensure I return again and again until this is finished...”_

That will to her voice, he knew it well, it was fiery and burning, bright and vibrant, unshaking and dangerous in a sense, but also incredibly valuable in its own.

But where he knew Herrah’s will to be unshaking and dangerous, she was violent with her will when she needed to be… this?

This was his own will burning in her eyes.

And he heaved a slow breath, fists shaking, pinching eyes tight shut, fighting with the very fire in his gut demanding he force her to leave… but she had seen the talk he had shared with the Nightmare King, she knew he was in no state to make her leave as he would have been able to in his old state of being.

“Fine…”

And Hornet’s head lifted, blinking.

The Kingsmoulds themselves seemed to shift their attention between the King and his child, as though they had understood the conversation entirely based on the tones used alone. The pure vessel, however, seemed to stand with their weapon recollected from the floor and sheathed back in place on their back.

“ _But the moment… you feel her presence and you let fear well in your chest… you are to turn round and escape before she can root her claws in you… Do. You. Understand. Me.”_ His eyes opened to lock the dangerous stare with her own, and for a moment she realized all the stories she had heard from her mother, all the legends read to her about her father and the beast he himself could be when a threat came to rear its head before the Kingdom’s well being.

She feared what would have happened had she been born into the life of a princess to that of a rivaling country, let alone a clan that had sought his fall toward the rise of this fair eternal kingdom.

And she thanked her very skies that she had been instead born as his child…

A firm nod and she stepped nearer toward the man, a wordless acknowledgment as to what she was getting herself into.

And he heaved a firm sigh before turning his gaze to the guards surrounding them, “We move into the temple’s inner chamber… now.” And with a curt turn, his grace seemed to return, if only brought on by his sheer frustration that his will had nested so deep within his daughter’s own being.

The knight and two Kingsmoulds gave no nod to signal they understood, instead righting themselves to pristine formation and marching with the king as he drew his own path toward the white gleaming blackness beyond the temple’s gateway.

Fire in her belly building high enough it might just consume itself, Hornet drew a steadying breath.

No time to second guess yourself now, Hornet.

Exhaling long and slow, she stepped toward the doorway’s frame and followed the four through and down the elegant and yet dangerous gleaming walkway, lined with the every spell that seemed to only be partly lit, white light seeming moreso grey than in any sense white, well… her father’s brand of white-- as pristine and dangerously powerful as it could be.

The Pure Vessel, in turn, tread forward before the company of the now increased group of five, head held high and marching toward the room to which their purpose should at last take root.

And it wasn’t fear that rooted its place in Hornet’s own chest, but this want to cut this short, to save the knight from this… but what was she to do, take their place?

Standing before the maw of the Radiance’s tomb, her eyes shifted to lift and slowly rise to stare at the Higher Being hanging in the midst of gleaming chains each marked with white-hot burning runes that glittered in every passing moment-- brighter in some and duller in others.

All this… as she glanced around to the tremendous etched prison, eyes wide with an almost awe at the detail to the every facet of the structure, all this… to contain one goddess…?

“Like we practiced…”

And her head spun around, watching the knight nod their head before lifting their head to drop their horns back and seem to focus for but a moment before this tremendous light seemed to begin pouring from the Radiance’s massive form.

Were all gods born of such light…

Skies, it was almost blinding…

She lifted a hand to shield her eyes, but did not avert her gaze, squinting as hard as she could feel her eyes strain before they would instead pinch shut, to watch with her father standing before her overseeing the tremendous knight worthy of legend almost… _absorb_ the goddess from the place hanging high in the air.

Drawing a taut breath into her chest, something in her gut tensed…

Was this fear…?

No… this was recognition…

A hunter’s sense acknowledging that something… that their prey had taken to stirring from their slumber…

“Father… _father_ , she is waking…”

His head spun around fast enough she almost swore she could hear the shell to his neck crack from the strain.

“ _What_ ”

Hornet nodded, eyes drawing wide as the goddess’ form finally began vanishing from high overhead, there was no mistaking this semblance of a sensation in her chest.

“Mother taught me what to search for… this presence… she’s waking up…!”

And fast as she said that, the form overhead vanished and the hexed chains snapped down from their places in the air to clasp about the Pure Vessel and tear their form from the ground and hoist them high into the air.

Had the chains been charmed to focus only on the Radiance?

Were they a creation of her father’s design to ensure the wretch of a being couldn’t find her way free so easily?

A moment clicked by before she watched the vessel’s eyes flash a wicked shade of gold and snap down to stare down, glaring holes into the ground, locking stare on the Pale King far below, and then flitting to Hornet’s own form near set his.

The vessel’s form gave a hard wrenching jerk at the chains, and an unearthly noise pouring from their being, something cusping on a snarl, and in the next moment-- the chains burned a white-hot light.

A howling scream that hugged unearthly left their form… but this was nothing she could ever tie to the knight’s voice.

No, this agony was all hers…

The King’s breath left him in a long expressed sigh, nodding subtly, “It matters not whether she is awake or not now… she is contained… forever contained.”

Forever…

Somehow, something in Hornet’s gut said anything but…

  
  


The stroll back to the entrance was… if nothing, almost uneventful.

But no matter what she did, she could not shake this icy pit in her gut…

She couldn’t have given up the fight so easily…

_She couldn’t have…_

Every rolling step made by her father seemed to beckon an ethereal wave of pale light, that of which bloomed on high and swallowed up the dark in each pluming cloud of perfect light. Each sigil and towering column blossomed with blinding energy, glowing brighter and brighter still as the now reduced group stepped past.

Brighter and brighter still, Hornet’s eyes remained fixated on her father’s form… finding no semblance of the weakness he had shown earlier…

That is to say, until she watched him step through the doorway’s threshold.

His form, as her own form stepped through, stumbled, breath rolling from him like someone had crushed it from its place in his chest, and his creations catching him by his arms as his being threatened to give way beneath him.

No… no, he had been serious… he was ill… g _ravely_ ill…

“Father--!”

Darting forward, she stumbled to his side, watching him sink in their grasp before forcing himself to his feet from sheer force of will.

“I am fine… I am fine…”

But was he telling her that, or was he telling himself that?

His hand, in turn, lifted and cast a grand wave of white light, calling back the sealing stone to the temple, and with its descent, she could spy the three cut spaces on it bloom with pale light… one by one…

First Lurien’s…

Then Monomon’s…

And lastly Herrah’s…

And it almost seemed to be going smoothly… that is… until that howl tore through the air.

It was nothing like the cry the Radiance had given… no, this was… _mortal_.

The howling scream of agony rang through the air, one would think such a cry would be muffled by the stone walls of the tremendous egg-like shrine that housed the wailing entity far within.

And yet the shrill screeching wail cut through the air and stabbed into her shell with such an intensity, she forced her hands to clutch over the sides of her helm, eyes pinching shut and praying this agony would not drive her to bend the crown about her horns.

No, no, this was wrong—

“Let them out! You’re hurting them!”

Burning tears welled in her eyes— oh let it end…!

Her head had whipped round, locking onto her father, whom had already torn past his guards, born of his own creation, hands meeting with the sweltering hot stone and drawing a sweeping path, as though searching for some semblance of weakness in the stone’s surface, the look of horror and grief painting its path along his usually benign and collected visage.

“I can’t, I— the Dreamers are already within their slumber, I cannot undo the door’s sealing without releasing her— they were perfect, this cannot be, they were not made to feel agony like this”

His words spilled from in flitting and hushed tones, as though so baffled by this terribly howling scream that his thoughts forced their way past his lips and spilled into the cool air as it drew far warmer.

“You were wrong, you were wrong! They could always feel joy and emotion, how could you do this—!”

The words left her in a spilling wave as pitch tears spilled down her cheeks and fell to the ground, narrowly avoiding the intricate patterns of her dress to plink on the icy stone beneath her feet.

And then as fast as that scream had split into being, a perfect silence swallowed it up.

And the true horror of what they had done finally struck down with its fiery blade’s edge.

“You _knew_ they could feel! You _knew_ it, _didn’t_ you!”

And he stumbled round, eyes wide, stuttered breath in his chest and a slow-building shake of his head. This was the first time she had ever seen the man show such frailty, such weakness… such… fear for what he had done to another.

~~_And you are to inherit the horror of what he did_ ~~

No, she couldn’t--

~~_You’ve got no choice_ ~~

Yes, she did-- there was always another choice…

~~_What choice is there… what choice do you have, princess_ ~~

And she turned, a shake of her head spilling inky tears from her cheeks before sprinting, as fast as her feet would carry her, nabbing her needle from its place on the ground, and fast as she had dared to come to this place… she ran.

“ _Hornet!”_

  
  


Howling his daughter’s name to the open air, a hand extending, he moved to dart after her, only for his form to give way beneath him.

Guards darted, scrambling to catch him and hoisting him to his full height by his arms, gentle as though he were made of pure glass-- arm extended, still fighting to try and go after her as that shocking spot of red rapidly shrunk on the horizon before tearing to the right and down the tunnel’s end and out of sight.

He moved to cry her name, if only to plead to the skies for her to return, ah, but what gods were there for the gods to plead to.

In place of his cry, a wrenching cough tore its path through him, his hand fighting to cover his mouth as black ichor spilled free… but this attack did not stop here… there was no magic left in his body to heal this illness for the moment so he might have the gift of chasing after his daughter for the sake of explaining himself or perhaps helping her to see reason.

The palace, she had to be returning to the palace…

Yes--

Gods, please let that be true…

His voice was hoarse as the black ichor spilled from his lips, choking round it as it spilled from pitch to a blinding white fluid in its original hue’s stead.

“The palace… her coronation… I must be at my throne… I must oversee her coronation...”

He was all she had left--

He had to wait for her to return, and when she did he would be at his throne… for her…

For her…

Forever…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long, my keyboard broke and I'm in the middle of repairing my motorcycle after a wreck, so things have been interesting to handle, that's putting it lightly. 
> 
> But that aside, this is a chapter I've been uncertain about how it would come out as, but I'm hoping it came across as well as the last few have! Overall I really do love this series and have had a lot of fun writing it, after this there's 4 total chapters left, and one of which will be the next one ' Spark of Limerence' 
> 
> Wonder what could be happening there heehheh


	16. Spark of Limerence

It had been a while since she could recall a night where she had rested as well as she did, humming softly under her breath and arms coiled to her chest, she felt almost… safe in this moment.

A rarity in these many days of peril and dark tidings that had fallen over the kingdom--

A low buggy churr in her chest and she gave a subtle nestle forward into the warmth before her that seemed to surround her, nosing forward and shuffling toward this almost decadent heat that so drastically countered the cold air of the world outside.

Perhaps it had been that it was the weight of the silken blankets she had fallen asleep beneath… hmm… where _had_ she last fallen asleep anyways…?

Tiredly wracking her mind, memories began to clink together, brain clearing itself of the fog that she found to be near worthy of lament, but instead forced it aside with a subtle noise in her throat that drew the wall of delightful warmth before her to stir ever so slightly.

And she froze…

W… what…?

A whirlwind of memories and she could recall the night prior… the shared banter, the bemusement, the trade given for a raise in their deal once made in a state of fury and violence, a battle to which Hornet could have very easily lost her life had she said the wrong thing…

To falling asleep in the same bed as him…

She had forgotten this was no wall she had curled to, nor was it a pillow she had her arm curled about the middle of… but the very man she shared the bed with that night prior, with his own arms laced about her being and holding her close to him as though she had… shuffled nearer… as she had just done but moments ago…

Oh, heavens _be_ \--

You did not cuddle up to Grimm in the night--

There was a subtle noise from the tremendous god, the arms so carefully laced about her shoulders, gentle in its nature and rolling with a subtle rumble that she could have mistaken as a growl were he awake but this… was that a… was that a purr?

With his eyes shut like this, he seemed less akin to a slumbering man and more like a gentle but great and terrifying beast that she had somehow bewitched to be this… soft was not the right word but it was the closest word that hugged on the fair definition of what danced within her head.

You did _not_ cuddle up to Grimm in the night!

But as she remained almost stock still there, head upward tilted…

She couldn’t much find a reason to be upset with the fact that she now lay curled in his arms and flush to his chest.

The hand not draped over the man’s waist lifted, stirring from beneath her own weight to curl fingers tentatively, did she dare lift her hand and risk waking him…?

Drawing breath long and deep, eyes still half-lidded with sleep weighting them, again her arm shifted, lifting its hand slowly… _slowly…_ and allowing fingertips to brush over the smooth surface of the other’s shell, the details of his sleeping face clearer now as her hand pressed fingers to brush over the crest of his cheek and gently slip its palm to cup beneath his jaw.

It was a moment of breathlessness then.

She had sworn when she had first met him that he was little more than a fiery brute but… then again, what had she been all these decades.

She supposed it was like that drew in like to the other…

Wait… drew in…?

What was she even saying!?

It sounded like she was trying to tell herself she was in love with the man-- heavens, she could snort at the idea and roll her eyes were the man not so near her in this moment. _Yeess, Hornet_ , you’re in love with a Higher Being that has likely known the companionship of entities far more impressive than you.

And where she expected the same drawing itch to swell over her shell…

Nothing came…

No drawing burn, no itch, no stirring uneasiness in her gut, no frustration to mount behind the brow of her helm and grind its fiery weight to the point of giving her a migraine and the ache that near drew tears to her eyes.

Nothing.

And it almost knocked the wind from her…

In… love with… Grimm…?

It burned in her chest, bright, sweltering, high and blinding as realization struck-- the yearning to spend time at his side, the amusement found in his company, the dance and the comfort she had found in the moments to be held so near and to sway with him as though the world around them had not long since ended…

It… made sense.

Drawing breath, she exhaled long and slow, eyes drawing shut, and leaned in nearer, pressing her brow to the man’s chest as that fiery light of recognition and acceptance broiled on high within her being.

By the very skies… she really was a stubborn brute… wasn’t she…

For this damnable heart of hers to pick someone that would never reciprocate something this… did she dare call it silly? Or was that to demean her emotions beyond what she would be allowed without the man being able to pick up on it…

But it left her to think… she had lain in his arms the entirety of the night… and he had not simply pushed her away as any one man might were they uninterested in a fiery willed shrew.

Something then threatened to bloom in her chest, bright and bubbling that caught in her throat and left her face to tinge that subtle shade of black from the void ichor that rolled through her veins-- it felt nice… genuinely _nice_ to allow this new emotion she had not felt in so many centuries blossom within her.

She knew its name… yet she feared to utter it for the sheer sake of it crumbling beneath recognition and flitting away to be crushed beneath the weight of reality that such a frivolous idea could never come to fruition.

But she did not shy from it… not this once… oh, just let her keep it this once.

Let her keep this hope swelling into place…

A hope that perhaps… _perhaps_ she was in fact in some semblance of love with the man… and maybe she was willing to accept it. Maybe he was even willing to test the waters of such a thing… maybe he was willing to hold it steady--

Maybe he might be in love too--

Her breath drew in tremendously deep and she exhaled it long and slow and tightened the curl of her arm over his waist to pull herself if only gently nearer, and gave a subtle nestle of her brow to Grimm’s chest.

As she drew in a breath, his scent that came with it… the smoke and sweet smell of cologne that lingered on his carapace, of earth and ash, soft notes of something floral, something rich like amber, and something warmer all his own-- something she could only describe as him.

Oh, how fanciful could you get, Hornet…

Her thumb brushed back and forth over the man’s cheek, gentle, but it was enough to earn a subtle stirring noise from Grimm and beckon his own hand to coil in nearer to brush over the side of her helm, fingertips drawing a featherlight path over the surface before palm grazed in a soft path.

His head as well shifted, a subtle nestle of his own into her touch that had her heart leaping into her throat, as her head leaned back from its place pressed to his person, looking up to watch as those subtle shifts in his expression drew into being and pitch black eyes drew open.

There’s a skipped beat as that whirling red light blossoms into being within those hues and that fire that is Grimm blooms before her very eyes and brings color to follow in a fiery flush across her face.

It was a missed beat, whereas her face colored with embarrassment at being caught in such a gentle gesture, his did not… instead, it seemed he quirked a crooked smile.

“Good morning to you as well, my lady...”

And in that moment she swore she could outright die--

“Such a rush of color to your face, heavens, could something be bothering you, or is it that you have been caught in the act of affection, fair lady of mine, mm?” His voice hummed with the singsong lilt of amusement and jest, teasing her for the fact her hand still lingered tucked beneath his head’s weight, cupping his jaw.

She gave a stuttered noise, sputtering for something to say, and fumbling on her response before resorting to a well trusted ‘hmph!’ and a turn of her head that did little to hide the flush of her face.

He gave a rolling chortle, leaning his head in, lifting it from her hand to gently bump his brow to the crest of her horns where they met with her brow. “I jest, my lady-- you know this”

Did she really? Did she know the man well enough to justify the flutter in her gut at the brush of his brow to hers?

You’re getting too giddy in this, Hornet, calm thyself, this isn’t a place for you to get so damnably eager over but a brush of the brow to your own.

“You seem terribly warm, Lady Hornet, perhaps I should untangle myself from about your person so you do not experience something of a heat stroke?” He tilted his head, unwinding his arms, but there was something in Hornet that drew her to curl her arm about him the faintest bit tighter before she released her grasp on him.

Alright, alright-- don’t be greedy, princess.

Leaning back she breathed a long and low breath, averting eyes before the pair took to their own ritual of rolling apart to sit upright, Hornet herself moving to right herself to step to the bed’s edge, feet swinging over the edge of the bed.

Only to hear the squeak of wood and glance back to find the Higher Being she had curled up beside for the evening not there as he had been but seconds before, turning back round with a quickness, a long lithe hand offered itself to her, gently curling fingers as though to offer assistance in helping her to her feet.

It’s a missed beat… then a second… before her own hand extends, slowly sliding into his and allowing his strength to be the force that helps her to her full height.

And she remains there, with hand held in his, gazing up at his own shocking crimson hues.

A brush of his thumb over the back of her hand, paired with a chortle of his own, “Heavens have I so made you feverish enough so as to steal away your senses, my lady?”

There’s a pause as she shakes her head, breath rolling in deep into her chest before she thinks on it, “No, I… I think I simply realized something this day…”

“Mm?”

“You would think it silly of me”

And he rights himself, opposite hand pressing fingertips to their owner’s chest in a grand flourish as though she had made a terrible strike at his pride. “You wound me, what ever could be so humorous as to catch my mirth if it is something you have realized so early in the morning, Lady Hornet--” And with a curling tilt of his head, he bows forward, his form near halving its height, curling arm beneath his waist as though she were the grandest of guests and not but a huntress that had shared the same sleeping quarters the night before.

“I would never do such a cruel feat upon someone I trust enough to share a bed with, my lady”

T-Trust enough…

Her free hand lifted, cupping to her cheek as her flush worsened-- dammit all, she feared before this day was over she would come of this looking akin to a shade with pitch shell and eyes of gleaming white.

“My, have I said too much?”

Her eyes shifted back, locking with his to spy the cant of his head as he rose back to full height, what did he mean by that.

“Said… too much?”

And there was a subtle quirk of his own expression, a grin that bubbled into place at the fringes of his visage and seemed to make it glow ever the faintest bit.

She had to stop herself from shaking her head and blapping a hand to the side of her head, what was she even thinking! Glow-- it was but a smile, there was no sense in finding such a gleam in something so small, you silly bug.

Oh, but to see that smile grow.

It near had her sigh and smile a little gleam of a grin herself, pride of something that could be blooming in her chest. Perhaps she could call this a hope for something that she could do unto another-- make that smile linger just a bit longer…?

Ah, and here she let her thoughts come to be so tainted by these emotions whirling in her chest and belly--

Dammit, Hornet, get a grip on yourself, you’ve yet to even earn a place at his side.

He turned, eyes shifting toward the hearth to the far end of the room, and with a curl of his wrist, it gleamed with a single crimson spark and burst into life with a roaring fire of scarlet flames and their tremendous warmth.

Turning, he kept hold on her hand, again running thumb over the back of her palm, and beckoned her with his gaze and subtle grasp on her hand to follow in his stride, ah, but perhaps follow was not the word that his gaze requested.

It felt, by the lack of tug, but the patient gaze in its place drawing him along to seem more waiting for her to take the first step before he would as well and guide them toward the roaring hearth.

“Do you recall that day not too far ago when you felt such a deep fury in my not naming of Nymwae...”

She blinked, nodding softly as his gaze shifted to her and their stride slowed to the edge of the hearth, stopping to feel the warmth that hugged the same comfort that being swaddled in the blankets with his arms laced about her had.

His own stare then turned toward the flames, a moment skipping by as he drew breath. “You were in the right for such an act… it had been an act I had taken into being after the fall of my friend, the King, your father-- but...” His brow furrowed, thumbing the back of her palm in thought.

It felt almost… calming for him to speak to her like this… to trust her with something this… dare she say, vulnerable.

“I had been in many a battle, even known the weight of death and the agony of its final strike-- but… no one had ever simply struck me for insolence before” And he chuckled, heavens, could her face please leave a state of flush? She almost wanted to forget that she’d slapped him like some brute to be found in a barroom booth for slurring his drawling obscenities at her--

But she could not help but laugh herself, tittering behind a hand and averting gaze a moment with a turn of her head to peer back at him without moving her head back round.

“I really must commend you on the bravery that must have taken, my lady”

And she stifled, or at the very least tried to stifle and failed at it terribly so, a giggle and gave a soft shake of the head, dipping her head forward before lifting it back up to peer up at the man. “It was less bravery and more fury in the moment--”

He chortled that low raspy chuckle that bloomed something fluttering in her gut, warm and tingling that almost left her wanting to keep him so amused.

“Either way, Lady Hornet, I must admit it sparked something in me that day that it took quite a while for me to come to terms with… but I believe it was your response to the truth of the ritual that set it deep in stone for me.

I sought a moment to hold you in my company, to perhaps tell you, but--” He hummed and tilted his head in mirth at his own misfortune of the emotions this body seemed to carry-- or was it that it was his very own emotions that she had gotten through to.

She blinked, eyes drawing wide as a soft realization seemed to dawn on her, the tone of his words seeming something on the subtle cusp of warm and even gentile-- was she overthinking it?

She had to be!

“It is a gift a believed I would never have the honor of receiving”

His gaze turned, staring then into the roiling flames, and lifting a hand to ghost its palm over his chest, settling it there then as his stare locked on the hearth’s depths and the blinding fire. She wondered for a moment, shifting her own gaze to stare on into the flames to watch them leap and dance.

Her hand, in turn, gave the subtle squeeze to his own, as though to steady him-- when in all actuality it was to ground herself.

This was real…

This was happening.

No, it couldn’t be, this couldn’t be what she thought it to be, or what she wanted it to be. This had to be some sort of ploy, some semblance of revenge for the strike, some kind of cruel game--

S _omething_!

But it did little to stop her from asking then, “What…?” Her voice deceptively level despite the roller coaster of energy rebounding about within her chest and threatening to bring a tremor to her hand.

He returned the subtle squeeze, she wondered if it was to steady himself in that moment or perhaps to steady her-- a god that could feel all semblance of negative emotion and the dark energies that came with it.

Did the fluttering anxiety that came with the words he could next speak be an emotion he could feel?

His gaze shifted then, head turning from the flames to turn those like-colored hues back from the crackling hearth to meet with her pitch hues, and she could swear she could hear her heart thrumming her blood in pounding waves-- could he hear it?

“Love--”

Her breath froze in her chest…

“Strike me...”

And he blinked, as though startled, hand still holding hers seeming to slacken in his confusion. “I… beg your pardon?”

She stuttered, way to go, Hornet.

Make something meaningful awkward as you always do, you oaf--

“I need to know that this is real. Strike me, please-- this is too good for me to be true, it must be a dream or a trick of the Radiance, I do not know how else to prove that this is not some illusion or-- or--” She fumbled for words, what could she even really say, was this really even something she had the grounds to ask for something after something so heartfelt was admitted to her?

There was a shake of her head, a wetness trailing down her face, as a laugh built in her throat and she squeezed the man’s hand tighter before releasing it and clutching her opposite hand to her chest. Since when did she get something good like this.

“I don’t… I do not get things such as this… I do not earn the affection of someone I cannot easily lose. You are but a celestial body that knows mortal form and I have only ever known mortal life-- why… why me?”

He drew breath in long and low into his chest, not seeming disconcerted by the laugh that had stumbled from her in the slightest, instead seeming to kneel before her, a whi9rl of his hand and a kerchief manifested in his hand to gingerly dab at her tears.

“Because despite everything… despite what you saw… you were not afraid”

She let breath roll from her in a shuddering press, but even with her best attempts to find words, she could not find the words to mark the questions all flying through her head a million kilometers a second. Too many to pick from, too much to think on-- she couldn’t respond in that moment… so she just let him speak.

"You...” His eyes pressed shut as he drew back the handkerchief now stained a true black by the tears that had drawn their pitch hued path down her face. “--are the _first_...” And with a weighty exhale he pressed eyes back open, a facet of genuine… true... mortal _vulnerability_ gleaming like moonlight in those shocking hues. _“--_ to see past what I am and not run or cower in fear.”

A soft sobbed laugh flitted from her, something gentle, almost a giggle, her right hand lifting to scrub with her pedipalps and catch her tears.

She had known fear… she had known terror…

But what Grimm had inspired was will and fire in her belly to be and to act.

“I could never fear someone like you, it’s all I can do to be a huntress of legend without fear--”

And he chortled low, soft, raspy but sweet, his free hand lifting as the opposite again lifted the stained and dampened cloth to carefully soak away the black tears before they could stain or drip and ruin her cloak.

“It was all I could do but to fall for you, my lady"

Drawing in her own long and low breath, she smiled softly, shaking her head, “I suppose it is fair to say it was all I could do but to do the same…?”

His own face seemed to fall slack with shock, as though he had expected his emotions to go unreciprocated, or perhaps that she may but laugh in his face, or state that she was not interested in some manner of a beast such as him and turn her nose up at him as though he were some archaic relic to be forgotten.

She knew how that felt…

She felt it many a day herself…

It ached to know that even the gods were subject to such terrible frailties.

“To see that you were willing to change… that you were so willing to help… be kind… that you could give up centuries of what you could call tradition all because I asked it of you. I didn’t mean to fall-- but I believe you gave me little choice, Grimm, oh fair troupe master”

He, in turn, gave a missed beat of pause, processing her words before she could see it roll through his eyes that she returned his feelings, the subtle smile that bloomed into place, it was that moment when his gaze returned back to hers, the subtle way it blossomed the faintest bit wider and hung at its crooked angle on his face when she felt a nudging urge strike her.

“Grimm…?”

“Mm…?”

“I’ve something I would like to do but… I must ask first…” She glanced away, toward the hearth as they flickered and danced, and back again to him, “Could I… kiss you…”

He gave no startled blink, no repulsed roll of the eyes, no snorting laugh, only a sort of warm gaze back on hers.

“Of course you may, my lady”

Her heart leapt into her throat, a giddiness she had not felt in eons finally settling its place deep within her being. But she fumbled, where did she even begin with something like this-- did she simply lean in and take the lead?

Or was she to give him such a right--

He seemed to catch semblance of her uncertainty, “Allow me, Hornet”

Again her belly came alive with fluttering sparks of energy and the giddiest of bubbling that swelled into her chest-- just to hear him say her name without some frivolous formality before it-- oh for the strangest reason, it was everything to her.

A moment clicked by as his free hand lifted to cup her partly tear-streaked face, thumbing so gently over the crest of her cheek and leaning in subtly. She returned his forward lean, eyes darting down with a soft glance down over his face’s features to land on his lips and returning to meet back with his eyes.

He seemed to have a similar train of mindset-- own gaze flitting to her lips and back before she gave a soft tilt of her head, following instinct and leaning in nearer, watching as he did as well-- eyes half-lidded and his own face but a breath away.

Oh, she had to be dreaming…

But as eyes drew shut and the two finally made contact, the sparks that flew were anything but something she could dream up.

And for the first time, with that spark of it igniting it now so much stronger in her being…

She felt hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a kind of short chapter, but I didn't want to push it beyond what I felt was workable, so it ended up coming in just over 4240 words-- but I like this one, it's a really cute one
> 
> Only 3 chapters left, y'all


	17. Ritual's Fate

They’d done it…

They’d actually done it!

Standing within the far depths of the Fungal Core, with scorch marks littering the grounds and their own cloak burnt at the fringes, the crimson flames that hovered before them warmed their helm and drew the shade born knight to-- well if they had been created with the capacity to smile… they would have.

The form of their friend and companion gleamed amid the flames as they rapidly absorbed them, burning bright and hot with their new coursing flames as the newly added energy roared through their form--

Nymwae’s eyes blazed just the faintest bit red within the dark of their pitch hues, and then in the next moment, it was gone, buried back beneath the dark hue of their eyes’ natural color.

They gave a slight nod, turning gaze to the far corridor and giving a dark pulse of black to dash forward and split the time traveling between here and there in half.

Hornet seemed to loathe the man, so it was best to get him out of town before she did something that might get her hurt-- at least, that explained her strange behavior, yes?

The focus on him--

The staring--

The time spent with him--

It was all to make certain he took no time to do harm upon the town, right?

Obviously, the town was but a humble and fading village, with no one to defend themselves from the dark nor from the troupe should even Divine decide she found herself a bit peckish for something a little more delectable than termite.

They could see why she was uncertain of the man…

And though they still held a shake at the thought of him snarling a screech of fiery loathing at them should they make the first strike before he rise from the bow as they had considered doing to get the upper hand on him in their last battle--

But that was something they would have to face…

They would have to face fear for the betterment of the people…

They wanted-- no…

They _had_ to be strong like Hornet is.

  
  


Tearing through the infected and volatile vengefly with their nail and diving aside, their companion igniting their form as the beast fell aside and leaving it to bounce off the platform and careen off onto the ground and burst into an explosion of fiery orange and brilliant crimson.

A glance toward their companion whom glanced back, a nod, and the knight bound across the last platform and they clambered up the great chain with little effort, hand over hand-- thanking themselves for the pedipalps and the grip and strength of the void that gifted them with such gift of this near weightlessness.

The chain jangled softly, swinging side to side in the morning light as they scaled higher before with a leap to the side they rebounded and scaled up and over the well’s edge with the same strength and landed with a hard thump, crouching firm as they had a thousand times before, dashing forward to rush through town, slowing as they passed through the humble town, nodding their head to the Elderbug in passing.

All things they had done a thousand times before.

And they had passed this tent a hundred times before… stared at it in fear a dozen times prior, and felt the will to step through and face their fear a dozen times more now.

But what they hadn’t expected was to see Hornet in the frame of the tent, let alone to be laughing at something said by the Troupe Master, that of whom seemed amused by her mirth in and of itself. Nor did they expect to see him cup her jaw as though she were some jewel of precious value, and lean nearer, her own head lifting, face drawing flush with a blackish color as their faces drew but inches away from one another’s.

And then they met and lingered in a drawn and… loving… kiss.

The knight could only stare on in bafflement…

Did… Hornet not hate him?

Had they gotten it wrong?

Head turned, looking up to their friend, whom seemed just as confused, looking down to him with a tilt of their head, wings flapping and eyes wide with their own stumbling befuddlement.

Surely they had not read the signs wrong!

The focus on him, the time spent with him, the staring, the-- _oh…_

Nearly dropping their nail, their eyes drew faintly wider as they realized that while her attention on the man may have started as a hate, or perhaps a mistrust, it had bubbled and burned, alchemizing itself through hotter and higher and purer into something entirely different.

She may have loathed him in the beginning…

But they had seen the stare on the day they had received the painting…

She had… fallen in love.

Oh, _dammit!_ And here they’d nearly gone and killed him without a second thought just to be rid of him and make certain he couldn’t harm the townsfolk!

If Hornet had fallen for the man, then certainly she trusted him enough to leave him be unattended with the people of this kingdom, especially such vulnerable folk of this humble village and their simple ways, the few that still remained.

Oh, skies, how could they have not seen this before--

Was there even another option at this point?

Reaching beneath their cloak, the knight fished out their map, unscrolling it, and leafing through the layers to find any still gleaming red pins of the starry flame pins that might have caught their attention. Brumm had pulled them aside before they had left after the last battle… he’d spoken on them coming to find him.

What had he meant by--

Ah!

A lone pin remained, gleaming and shifting its magical glow within the lines, shimmering and glowing and nigh resplendent in its hue compared to the many other colored pins and markers that littered their maps.

Deepnest… about where they had to go to face against Herrah… against Hornet’s… against’s Hornet’s mother.

Mm… did they have the heart to go through and do both this night… find the answer to both saving the man that seemed to make Hornet smile, and yet purge the last remaining thing that Hornet had to remind her of her mother…

No, she would only face one travesty this day.

They couldn’t take everything from her all at once if this were to fail--

Quick, darting with a jog through the town to run back through the town the shade born knight-- for the first time since they had ever come to this fair little village, darted through the village with a fiery black bolt of energy and rushed for the Stag Station as quickly as their short legs would carry them, even stumbling and tripping to thump against the far wall of the descending tunnel with a hard thump after bouncing off its platform with a leap through the door.

They couldn’t be seen by Hornet, not after they had seen something so… soft from her… they almost feared she would revert to her old ways and shriek and slash in embarrassment--

But another part knew her to simply fluster and stamp her foot and cross arms, but laugh and shake her head at how easily she had been caught by the little shade.

Sitting on the platform a moment, they contemplated, lingering there a moment before shaking their head and thumping their small hand and the claws of their claspers to their helm.

What had they almost done.

With everything they thought had been coursing through Hornet’s mind turned on its head, and the facets of it all now shining in a now rosy hue in place of their vicious black light, a welling guilt thrummed in their chest.

Not at the mistake made…

Well… that was part of it…

But _skies_ , they had nearly killed him-- they knew they were capable of it, they had taken down the Nosk in one fell attacking onslaught and gone without so much as a strike to their own person. What matter would it make if the man was going to be giving his all if they could face down that monstrosity and come out of it unharmed?

Shaking their head, they stood and dashed forward, nail drawn and dove with a high bound to strike the bell, Nymwae hot on their trail.

Seems even the Grimmchild could sympathize with this confusion now willing through and around into guilt.

A resounding strike to the bell and the gates to the station shot open, the familiar sound of thrumming footsteps racing forward and down the path beyond, to bring the tremendous form of the Stag Beetle to skid to a stop before them.

They wasted no time with conversation, much to the beetle’s surprise, though they never responded, to begin with, but they let nary a word slip from him before pointing out on their mp the Deepnest Stag Station.

Here…

Fast…

  
  


Darting from the back of the tremendous bug the very moment they were free, the shade seemed to tear across the ground in quick dashing bolts, and through the doorway fast enough it draws the Stag Beetle himself to blink in a wide-eyed sort of confusion.

What could have caught a fire beneath them to rush through at such a pace.

Was it to pay respects to the Beast’s Den… or something else entirely.

Knight knew the truth of it, darting over and sailing through the air, spying the far set glint of red crackling as a form trailed up in bounding leaps through the air to take their own place standing amongst the webs and the dust of the many centuries passed.

The day had only just begun— it seemed Brumm returned here every day hoping that they would see reason and come to find the man to seek out the means to spare his Master the terrible fate of death and his friend the fate of whatever this dance to be could drag them into-- something about it left a pit in their gut they didn’t like.

Taking their blade, they gave a tapping tang of it to the stone, resounding it through the cool air and catching the man’s attention enough so that he froze in place, turning round in confusion to spy their short form and the air bound form of Nymwae--

His body language almost seemed to brighten, lifting the faintest bit to raise his hand not toting the torch bearing the blaze of the scarlet flame to show welcome to the knight and their charge.

But it was not in the way that most seemed to brighten, it was in the faintest way that one would perhaps spy the shift in the night clouds as they rolled by to bare the grey skies above, brighter but only faintly still.

“Mrmm.” And he fell quiet… staring down the two “You came.” It was not long before the brightness the befell him seemed to lessen in the same sway that clouds washed back over that ever-darkening sky.

“You have gathered the flame and so the time for the ritual's completion is upon us. All you must do now is return to the Master...” He dipped his head seeming to turn it away a moment in thought, as though he should have expected this sort of response from the world as he had faced it a thousand times over from this world a hundred times more than any mortal ever should have had to face.

“Thus it goes, as it ever has. We are like the notes in an old, old song. You and me. Mrmm.”

He fell silent, a subtle shake of his head as hand drew tighter about the stave of the torch in hand, taut enough the knight could swear they heard it threatening to creak beneath his strength. Relenting-- his shoulders lifted the faintest bit-- those clouds parting the slightest bit in realization as brightnes shown through once more.

“And yet... It is not merely by fortune that we meet here, in the darkest, furthest reaches of the world, where my Master's scarlet eyes can not see us.”

His head lifted, as Nymwae’s own eyes met with his, seeming almost perplexed as to why he would seek to hide from Grimm-- but in the same breath, the knight could see the terror of crossing the man enough to know his fury. The fear they had felt in their first meeting alone had been enough to inspire the aversion they felt to hide from the man until it was ultimately necessary.

“Mrmm. A song that never ends... is no song at all.”

With a deep breath, Brumm seemed to clutch the torch tighter in his hand, tipping his head forward to lock eyes with the knight born of true shade and hummed subtly under his breath. “You take part in the Ritual, yet I sense you truly have no Master.” He paused, glancing aside from the platform’s edge to gaze out into the far reaches of the distant village and the far pits that lingered far below these ornate webs that had once been.

Something told the little knight, watching him as he lingered there, watching as he drew to continue with a weighty breath, and turn the gaze behind his mask back to them-- he had been around far longer than just the average bug.

“Is it so?”

Was it?

They supposed with the king’s brand embedded on their shell now… there was no one that could call themselves the knight’s master. “Perhaps together we can banish that livid flame and let this dead Kingdom rest in peace.”

Something within them… frowned at the concept of it… this kingdom was perhaps dying… perhaps dead… yes, but it could be reborn… they knew it could.

Hornet was still here…

“If you wish to silence the endless song... Mrmm, meet me where it began...”

And with that, toting the torch in hand, in the same direction he had come, he turned on heel and marched to the platform’s edge only to bound forward and vanish over the edge.

Darting forward, they peered down but… in the waters far below there was no ripple to indicate he had landed… instead but a subtle plume of crimson light.

No, that man was anything if not something beyond a mortal bug’s confines…

Their arm lingers drawn over the edge, and it’s a moment where they fear he all but plummeted, despite the proof of the cloud below, before the sound of soft wings landing on the ground beside them, and a lone wing lays itself on the knight’s shoulder.

It’s okay…

They know he’s okay…

They are their father’s child after all.

Staring on, the knight pauses, making no sound, no tilt of the head, before nodding softly, thanks evident in the slackening of their shoulders before lifting to embrace Nymwae tight.

But they couldn’t help but wonder…

If they went through with this-- hugging the other tighter as the thought dug its claws deeper into them.

~~What would happen to Nymwae?~~

  
  


Both coniferous and seasonal tied depths of Greenpath hummed with the subtle unearthly life of the reanimated life of the stolen corpses of the poor men and women of the kingdom that had known the cruelty to have fallen beneath the sway of the Radiance’s sway.

And it was calm at that moment, subtle and warm and yet… devoid of any path that marked as to where the little knight and Nymwae could have gotten away to.

Not in the Kingdom’s Edge… nor in the City of Tears--

It left a curiosity to build in her and a semblance of humor that for the first time in many a week, she could not find the little ghost knight, and did not have them at her side to reassure her they would remain near. But on the other hand, it left a sort of concern to blossom out and into this dark bruise of a flower that marred her mind with the concepts of where they could be and what could have found them.

She drew to an immediate stop, breath frozen in her chest and pinched eyes shut, a shake of her head.

No. They were fine…

They had managed to beat her twice…

Nothing could take them down… not in this kingdom.

And nothing from any kingdom to come into its walls would have that glory.

But something was up-- and someone had to know where the two had managed to hide away, there were no new scorch marks to litter the grounds from any battle to sign any trail-- nothing demarking any path.

And it hit her--

Stag Station.

Unfurling silk and latching it to the furthest point she could throw her spun fibers, watching it latch onto the platform, and with a hard yank, soared up and through the air, rebounding off the wall with a kick and bounded for the entrance to this towering hall of the kingdom’s mapped sector.

She thanked the skies, sailing beyond the beasts that shot for her as though she were their next meal, and bound over the edge of the intact platform to the stag station’s entry, skidding to a stop, slashing her weapon to dispatch the lunging Squit without second though as their being split with a spray of sickly orange--

Turning with little mind paid to it, a nod to its corpse as its being seemed to fall to little more than ash and mask the only think left before it too fell from the platform’s edge, and in wide strides, the huntress took to the station and paid no mind to the bench.

Eyes locked on the bell, needle drawn far, and struck it to draw its tremendous and almost silvery by comparison sound from the tone of the knight’s own nail to the brass bell’s surface.

Gates shot open and the thundering footsteps tore through the silence akin to wet silk beneath the stones of crumbled library pillars and their weighty shelves--

Familiar face of the Stag Beetle skidded nearer as he too skidded to a halt, locking gaze on Hornet and nodding with a hard bob of his head, “Ah-- my lady! How can I assist you this day--”

“I needed to request as to whether or not you have seen my sibling, the little knight, and their friend, a red shelled bug, airbound-- dark eyes. My sibling it the one that I believe opened these tunnels, they opened much of the kingdom back to the people now that I think on such a matter”

She hummed, but with little glance to the side, looked back to the man, watching him tilt head in thought, “Ah! Yes, the short fighter whom bears a nail pure enough to match that of legend-- yes, I took them to the Deepnest station earlier, but they never returned, they must have stopped to do something there, perhaps to pay respects to the Beast within her den in the Distant Village?”

Her face paled, no… that would not be what would be done there.

“Take me there… please--”

  
  


Swift as she had asked, she was tearing through the exit to the next station’s doorway, leaping over the platforms with unfathomed grace, and latching eyes on the intricate silk that surrounded her mother’s den, that very same den that had played as her home away from the palace in her youth.

And so, flitting through the air, she sailed-- catching herself on the sturdy woven material of nigh indestructible and slow crumbling web of her mother’s creation, slinging her form down and through the door’s gate to land with a crouch and slide.

Head snapped up, eyes locking on the nearest form to recognize it as a descendant of one of her mother’s many followers-- wh… what?

No, they would be… if the knight had come through here, they would have been.

They seemed to stare on in a blind sort of shock.

“Princess--”

But it was not time for this, no, she could not waste such precious time on formalities to be spent on finding the two if she were to follow this dark feeling welling low in her gut.

Why come so far out this way if not to complete a step through this ritual to save the remaining pieces of this kingdom.

Something wasn’t right.

And quick as she had come through, she tore back through the gate and round to race in bounding leaps over the platforms, wasting little grace on the spent silk in place of lunging bounds through the air and speedy leaps that carried her fast through the air.

It saved her no energy, but it carried her farther faster.

She had to think, who would know where they would be without having to scour this place for them--

And it wasn’t a second thought before those crimson eyes snapped back into her mind.

Skidding to a stop before the Stag Beetle, hand to the ground, she sheathed her needle to lock stares with the startled bug.

“Dirtmouth. Now.”

  
  


Little time was wasted on the ride up, instead bounding up and through the door, tearing through the town and past the Elderbug, that of which with a speed that seemed to startle him and draw him to stumble round and clutch his cloak about himself with wide eyes.

“My lady! Are you quite alright? Do you require my assistance?”

And she skittered to a stop, wait, this was the only way up from the well to get to the cirque aside from through the Howling Cliffs, he had to have seen them.

“Elderbug, the knight and Nymwae, have you seen the children?” She seemed almost out of breath, chest heaving as though she had been flitting half between panic and the rushing fear of what could be.

Was it possible… was it possible they had went for the fight--

“Ah! Yes, they passed by not too long ago, they seemed rather focused on their path through town” Uncurling his arms from clutching his cloak about himself, he pointed up toward the direction of the Troupe. “They went off toward that creepy circus-- Is something the matter?”

Her head snapped round to look to it, and then back, panic building in her chest.

No, no, no no no no, please no, she just got something nice in her life.

“No, nothing-- I-- thank you for your assistance, I must be going” And quick as she came, she turned on heel to dig heels into the ground, kicking up dirt with how hard she tore at the stone rich compacted earth and rushed toward the cirque with fire in her pace and a fast blooming fear for what she may find building in her gut.

Please, don’t tell her she would find them in the midst of something that would be found as detrimental--

Stumbling round the corner, she could spy Divine’s lone gleaming eye catch view of her, and she stopped, racing back round, staggering toward her with a quickness, “Divine, have you seen the knight and Nymwae-- are they near”

She seemed to jolt in a sort of surprise, her form righting as though perplexed, lifting a claw to her chin, tucking away the slow fading scars that littered her neck, “Mm? I can catch their scent near but not quite within range-- why is it you ask, fair savior?”

And she breathed a sigh of relief, being sagging as though the air had been sucked from her lungs, head tilting forward, and hand finding its way pressed to her chest. “I thought… I thought the knight might have completed the ritual… it’s… I must speak with Grimm, thank you, Miss Divine--”

Again Divine seemed to quirk her head, as though confused, concerned by the matter of her concern, but nodded with a subtle grace to it and bowed gently to bid her farewell, watching her dart round the corner, slower now but still rending round the corner to glide round the steed and spy the troupe master’s figure as he directed the grimmkin into their repairs of the mechanisms for the ritual to take place.

Though the act of it seemed a tidge halfhearted--

As though he had something that drew him to want to stop this lone ritual… just this one-- but, he knew the consequences. If he lost this vessel… this child… he would have to make another, find another… and would this mean growing attached to this child? Or would it mean holding to a calloused nature and detaching oneself from something you brought into the world as he had done a thousand times before.

“Grimm--!”

His shoulders slackened, as though surprise and a semblance of joy that sparked relief flooded him-- to hear a voice that inspired such warmth within him. He turned round with a semblance of curiosity picking its path across his expression, what ever could have his chosen lady in such a state of near panic… let alone fear that even his own truest of forms could not inspire.

Racing nearer, Hornet heaved a weighty breath, straining to level her breathing and looked about, eyes wide as though perhaps despite Divine’s words she would find the pair within the complex.

“My lady, you seem alight with such panic, what ever could have you in such a state--”

No, not a sign of the pair, and yet something felt wrong, there was a certain air to the place that was gone of the moment, a certain warmth and sway and… melody.

And her eyes snapped to his.

“Where is Brumm…”

He stares with a cool but ultimately surprised semblance of emotion passing over his face, as though he had not expected the question from her, “He stated he wished to explore the grounds this morning before we were to leave the Kingdom at the end of the ritual, but I’ve yet to speak with him that I am uncertain I am willing to part with it as I have found something more valuable than such vivid flames--”

There was a moment where she swore she could have smiled, but she shook her head, “I do not mean such matters, I mean that I am unable to find the knight nor am I able to find Nymwae and the temple is still sealed, as is mother’s dreaming chambers-- I cannot find any reason for them to vanish such as this”

He frowned, unfurling cloak from about himself, hmm-- most peculiar indeed… but there was no reason to fret such an occasion, he knew it so… the ritual was perfect, it was--

“Is there any alternative to the ritual…”

He blinked, thinking a moment and shaking his head, “No, lest the one to summon the troupe is to destroy the source of our summons, it is said that we may perhaps be banished of the kingdom, and I sense no one of any semblance of negative energy approaching our mother torch-- I sense only--”

And he froze, eyes drawing faintly wide as he had moved to draw a hand through the air to mark his great dramatic nature, amused that such a subject could come to mind, only for the familiar presence of his well-trusted musician to spark at the near reaches of his attention, and a cold pit welled in his chest.

“Brumm…”

Hornet’s eyes drew wide with surprise, then brow furrowing, stepping nearer as a look of focus that dared to tinge with desperation for a path that may save the man a path of banishment after he had, at last, come to know the beginning to a life to someone he had once been.

And after she had finally become someone that could tame a beast as great as him…

“Is there anyone else approaching… is there anyone _else_ ”

His brow furrowed tight, eyes focusing on something beyond this world, searching for something and seeming to delve beyond the realm she could see, burning brighter. Hotter than she could bear, but she did not dare look away, only to spy the faint shift as they drew the littlest bit wider.

“The knight…”

_No…_

In a rush of something in her gut, she turned round, dashing for the door, a deep set will burning hotter now than she could ever recall, and in a burst of silvered white, blotches of black on the fringes, she found herself outside-- but did not stop despite the dizziness she felt.

Still sprinting, a second burst began to whirl about her, that same snowy white and silver touched light ensnaring her before the black light caught her being, to tear her forward and allow her to lash out her needle’s silk, catching the shattered bridge’s edge, and clambering higher, scaling quick as her pedipalps would carry her.

Standing at the top, she glanced back, her head turning to spy the flash of red rushing after her, burning a fiery path in the direction she had gone, but she did not slow.

Where had this begun, where had this started.

The Howling Cliffs…

Where she had fallen, surprised by the presence of the knight on that high set ledge.

And it was child’s play, flitting through the King’s Pass, tearing through the vengeflies that sought to attack her, only to find herself caught staring at the bse of that grand pit, gazing up high above her at that cliff’s edge.

No, come on, it couldn’t end here!

But when she swore she could almost have this quest come to an end, that fiery red cloud wound about her and lifted her from the ground as though she weighed nothing with the presence that felt like warm arms that wound her to a sturdy but thin chest.

Soaring high through the air it was something that should have been astounding, and yet she could only find it in herself to hear her heartbeat thunder in her ears.

“ _So you followed me here--”_

Sailing round the cliff’s edge, the two of them were nigh unbound by the very winds, settled on the ground once on the stony ledge, Hornet raced with unfathomed grace once more, bounding through the air with the same precision that had given her the title of Legend among her people--

“ _\--to where the ritual began.”_

That had earned her true title of Higher Being…

“ _You would join me in breaking it then?”_

Of goddess…

“ _It is painful to defy the Master, but our harvest...”_

Skittering round the ledge and down, the two sailed down and under, through and scorching the land with pure soul, the needle piercing the beasts that dared to cross their paths and bodies thrown aside to find themselves blown to ash by scarlet flames.

“ _\--it profanes this dark, quiet Kingdom.”_

“Hornet! This way!” Diving through the tunnel, Hornet leapt through the maw of the hall and raced through, her breath caught in her lungs, hearing the far distant murmur of a voice and feeling the burn of fire ache through her legs as she charged, tears burning the corners of her eyes.

“ _This once, I would see the Ritual fail.”_

No...

“Mrmm... _Now!”_

Please, no--!

“ _Let us destroy the anchor, and banish the Master.”_

Her steps thundered toward the open gateway, watching the man drive his stave into the base of the torch’s stand, and hearing an agonized cry behind her, her head spun round, spying Grimm collapsed to the ground,m clutching his chest and looking almost… mortal.

“ _Go!”_ It was a howl from him, but with it, she could swear burning tears of pain threatened to spill in the corners of his own eyes.

“ _Never shall he return here again!”_

Her head spun around as a familiar tang of metal top metal struck, then again, and again, and she pressed back into motion, legs acting before she could think to move--

Move, Hornet, fucking _move_!

Tearing through the gateway, she could see that flame burn brighter and brighter and brighter still, hot enough that that terrible crackling near drowned out that howling cry that she could swear she heard behind her.

Brumm’s head snapped up, eyes drawing wide behind his mask, illuminated by the flickering orange and scarlet flames before him, shock evident on his face but he said nothing, looking to Hornet, but eyes snapping to Grimm in the far distance crumpled to the floor in agony and she could feel his face pale beneath his mask.

Her head turned for but a moment to spy his head lifted, a broiling snarl burning in his eyes, heat too unbearable to keep looking at for too long, but too unearthly to look away from. The loathing of a god bleeding through-- a hate he deemed worthy for an action he found worthy in this pact he made with this young goddess.

And round her head snapped back, lunging forward as that flame burned at its cusp, please just let her be in time, let her stop this.

Let her keep her hope.

“ _No!”_

With a final blasting strike to the stand, the torch ignited and the room tore itself into blinding white light, leaving that next moment to fall to perfect black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a chapter I had a little trouble writing but once I got started it took me at worst two days to write out and nearly hit 6k with-- the bit with the mother torch is something of a headcanon of mine, should it take serious damage, Grimm will feel it. 
> 
> So to implement that was something I was kind of interested in-- can you believe there's only one more chapter and then the epilogue? (How it ends? Oh, not I don't want to spoil-- but it isn't a waste of all of your time, that I swear)


	18. Aftermath

It was cathartic in a sense, to gaze out upon the fair town of Dirtmouth and see the soft pale glow of the Lunaflies and the cool gleam that it brought to the town. The subtle hum of life that bloomed through its confines, that of which brought the faintest of smiles to cross Hornet’s face.

Watching as the ‘mightiest’ of warriors, that of which bore the name Zote and dared snap his prideful words at her as though he knew not who she was-- and it was… honestly rather… nice.

Bretta had long since perched herself on the bench to gaze out over the planes with unfocused eyes, mind elsewhere, and she hummed, low and soft to a melody that did not carry itself through the cool night air, something swaying and balancing itself gentle on a carried weight of three.

It was sweet to know that her people could still survive even through all they had been through…

It was astounding to know they could thrive no matter what…

And yet…

Her smile dipped, dulling gently.

Perched on the edge of the fractured bridge she had lugged the posts of thick lumber from Greenpath on her back to piece together a support for the once great structure, a start, she thought to try and mark this kingdom back toward restoration.

Feet swayed slowly at first before stilling, hanging over the ledge as again her smile continued to dim, so much work to do--

Much of the material that lay over the ground was neatly stacked over the ground in tidy stacks, mounded so that with the assistance of the one the knight had befriended, what was her name-- Cloth? Could assist in the reconstruction as with Myra as she had volunteered.

It was terribly lucky, Myra had begun to come toward her beginnings of infection, only being coaxed out when Hornet herself came town with a gentle tone and overturned hand.

She had smiled then, gentile and benign, subtly regal in the sense that one might consider a princess to be, but firm as her legend called her name to be as well.

Eyes drifted down to lock with the yellow-lit floor of the town’s cobbled roads, much of the town seemed to be out, chittering away and enjoying their afternoon, with the familiar form of her sibling hopping down from the far set cavern of the Crystal Peaks-- to which they spied Hornet perched and waved.

She lifted her hand to return her greeting but gave no wave, just the lift of her pedipalps.

The smile had fallen away entirely now.

Her rounds through the underground had also been remarkably fruitful, apparently, there had been many warriors and survivors to be found within the Coliseum of Fools, some of which were welcoming of the Radiance’s infection, but held control over her sickening dream.

It was peculiar but left her to wonder--

Was such a thing possible for the average bug?

Could she maybe finally find a way to put the long possessed to rest, and the recently overtaken to be freed of this curse?

The prospect of it was fascinating-- amazing even!

But it…

It did not inspire her to leap to action like she had hoped it would.

Far below, she had reached out to the Mantis Tribes, with the assistance os the Knight, seeking to branch out their colonies to reconnect their kingdoms once more and try to start into reconstruction of the surrounding area in trade for more area for the Mantis Tribe within the Fungal Wastes and perhaps even containment of the Traitor Lord if he could be located within the confines of the kingdom yet to be mapped.

The sisters had been in awe at such a bold statement, not that he would be brought to them and executed before them as an exhibition of strength, not that he would be killed for them, but that he would be located so that they could contain their brother and perhaps see about undoing what the Radiance had done unto him.

Construction within the Queen’s Garden for the secondary colony of the Mantis Tribes had begun last week, something that she had been almost elated to hear, and had overseen the first few strikes at those damnable thorns-- but they had yet to think of a means to work around those confines, they believes perhaps a few files from within the workshops within the City of Tears might have some integrity against them, but she was uncertain how far it would get them.

Something about the orange-red gleam of them struck her as familiar, blamable on that damnable goddess trapped within the confines of the Pure Vessel’s being so far away…

Hmm… Now that she thought about it, there was not much of a color like it within the kingdom, certainly that sickly orange, yes, but the red tinge-- no.

Red…

She wondered maybe, where within this kingdom she could find something that burned that beautiful color, that scarlet hue and gleamed that blindingly vivid hue. Fiery enough to burn the eye if you stared too long into its depths… much like a smoldering flame.

She’d almost do anything to find something that hue at this point, that smoldering scarlet glow--

Even an ember.

Her breath shook in her chest and her head dipped, elbows planting on her knees and hands splaying out to bury her face away within their palms, the fuzzy pedipalps sticking to her helm the faintest bit but she paid no mind to it as the faintest brush of cool black dampness threatened to spill over the corners of her shell’s sockets.

It was… odd to see the town so lively now without the cirque nearby…

The townsfolk had been so petrified of what could have come of that dark cirque that they had stowed themselves away within their homes with no intent to leave lest the terrible structure of crimson and white and their tremendous steed

How fast they went back to knowing their happy lives when something they had been too fearful to approach had come out of the works suddenly vanished.

But why was it with the red glow no longer lingering before the fringe of the town did she feel at her lowest.

Why had she let her hopes get so high--

Only for them to come crashing back down so fast.

Her breath hitched harder, a sob wracking her body as she choked at it, struggling to keep it from fighting its way free and failing damnably hard in her battle with it.

She could still remember the week prior, lying on that icy stone floor with an ache that thrummed through her entire being akin to that of a scorching burn and struggling to collect herself amid the whirling dark that ate at the corners of her vision.

Where had she been…

What had…

She could remember the sight of Brumm with the stave driven into the mother torch’s base and yet… _skies where_ was _she. Her head throbbed with a horrid ache, pushing from the frigid stone floor to sit on her knees and clutch her helm, running hands over the surface to search the surface for any semblance of a crack…_

_No… no crack to be found…_

_And as far as she could feel, not even a chip big enough for any semblance of void to ooze out._

_Not even a divot…_

_Then what had been powerful enough to knock her to the ground as it had…_

_The horrid flash of blinding white tore back through her mind with the agonized howl from the man that had sparked the blooming warmth within her chest in these weeks that had passed, and then the terrible and deafening silence that had fallen so shortly after._

_The mother torch’s base had been struck repeatedly with the knight’s blade, and the stave of the torch driven into its side…_

_Wait… the torch!_

_Her head tore round, breath tearing into her chest to find the base she had seen but what she could swear to be moments ago in this room that had been so warm and almost welcoming by the presence of that flame alone,_ _ah, but perhaps it was that hue_ _alone that drew her in and that warmth just seemed itself to be a sort of bonus_ _._

_B_ _ut that very torch and it’s crimson burned and glimmered in its base were gone._

_Not a sign of the man’s summoning torch but the lone stave to the far left of the hall that, s Hornet staggered to her feet to collect-- to her horror, felt ice-cold to the touch._

_Never once had anything she had held within the confines of his domain ever felt cold, let alone cool-- but to feel so frigid she nearly dropped it…_

_She couldn’t bear to make herself let it go, but spun round in search of someone…_

Anyone _…_

_Grimm-- gone_

_Brumm-- no… gone…_

_Please not the--_

_And she spotted the knight and breath rushed from her, racing to them to collapse to her knees, hands gentle and almost afraid to release the stave for fear it may vanish but relenting to lie it gingerly on its side, and release it to carefully scoop hands beneath the helm of her sibling’s head to try and jostle them awake in the slightest amount if she could._

_And it was almost instantaneous that they shifted, subtle at first, a shift of their arms pushing at the ground, lifting their head to stare at the floor, and then look up to her, and it was as though the froze where they kneeled._

_Her head shook, back and forth, slow-- she couldn’t catch it, the tears that budded as well._

_She wanted to be angry, to be furious and scream-- but all she could find it in herself to do was to latch onto the little shadow and hug them tight to her person._

_At least this ritual’s cruelty had not taken her sibling as well._

  
  


In the week that had followed, she had been something almost disconnected from the world, but enough so that it drew her to know that it was not her place to sit idly by and let it decay because she felt it needed someone stronger to take the stand that she felt needed to be made.

She was that born of true legend… born of Higher Being and the Beast--

She _was_ Higher Being… a self-made story told to the bugs the roamed the fringes of this kingdom, and a guardian that watched over this slumbering civilization that nursed its grave wounds all these many years.

She was the only one that would take the stand.

She was the only one that _could_.

The runaway princess come to know her place at last in the face of heartbreak.

From the moment she had left the cave, she had not the heart to leave the stave to lie alone on the floor, and with its weight now accompanying her needle, far larger than the great blade that had saved her many a century and many a lifetime over-- she sat at the fractured bridge’s edge with head in her hands.

And she took a deep breath, scrubbing with the palms of her hands to wipe at her tears as she had no place sitting on such a once grand bridge’s ledge weeping over her sorrows, she had lost what she had no right in thinking could have ever been hers in the first place, it was stupid of her to think she was ever to be allowed to live through this eternity with anything _but_ this kingdom.

But it did little to stop the wracking sob that hitched her breath, she’d been so stupid--!

_A crackling spark flickered at the corner of her vision--_

Eyes pinched shut, you’re imagining things, Hornet, there’s no such thing as a happy ending for you. Why would you have even expected it in the first place?

And that crackling drew louder.

Her hands pressed over her ears, drowning out these false hopes-- it had to be a work of the Radiance, she knew it. And she refused to let the wretch in and take what little the kingdom had left of a leader before she could so much as settle her feet in the sand as a true monarch.

And yet, she felt a burning yearn strike her, her head dipping forward, and jolting up-- no!

No, she could not fall, not after all this time, not now, not to _her_ , please no.

Again that crackling drew louder, sharper, and that urge to shut her eyes burned hotter behind her lids, til she could resist it no more and her form toppled forward from the edge of the bridge, form falling slack with sleep to fall through the air with a weightlessness all its own.

The knight, far below, spied her form begin to plummet and tore round from his conversation with the benign Elderbug to rush for the end of King’s Pass.

Hornet’s eyes drew bleary, sleep heavy, and weighting her body before no longer could she keep her eyes open and…

Dark fell…

And it all drew…

_White…_

  
  


  
  


“My child… my child… do wake yourself, we’ve much to discuss and great company to join us amid our conversation, my dear girl”

Oh, what cruel dream could the Radiance draw of her to bring such a voice to her in such a dire time in her life.

“Ahah, I assure you, I am anything but her makings, lest I am your sister’s creation, am I?” The voice’s attention turned toward a figure yet unseen to which drew a subtle chortle that hummed with an ashen tone and subtle rasping husk.

“Should you be, I believe she may have quite the conniption to know she’s lost to something of her own making, my friend”

Her breath tore into her, tight enough that she moved to press from her place lying on the cloak lined bench, faltering a moment with a feebleness and breath rushing from her in a stumbled press.

“Easy… my child...” Two hands found her arms, easing her to sit upright as her head bleared with a dizziness, “You have my apologies, we saw what disarray you had fallen into and the state of which you were declining was so rapid, we could not do much outside of act drastically before you did something we all would regret, Hornet”

Her eyes pressed open, head lifting slow to spy the unfocused form of a figure in white before her with a towering mantle of white thorn-like horns standing proud about his mantle.

“F… Father…?”

He gave a subtle chuckle, “Indeed it is I, my child-- but I have someone here I believe you need to see more than you need to see me...”

And as her eyes cleared to take in the outline of the Pale King in all his glory, she could see the finest of details of his raiments and refinery, sashes, and tiered layers to his grand robes at long last after the many weeks since she had seen him last.

But it did little to prepare her for the man stepping aside to show her the red shelled figure standing not far behind him devoid of his familiar cloak, standing with a certain terse uncertainty to his posture, as though he were uncertain she would recognize him in such a state, would she seek to approach him, would he imbue her with a truer state of fear in this state, could he hurt her in this state--

“ _Grimm--!”_

And it was as fast as she had seen him that she had leapt from the white metal bench in this stellar white city to race over the alabaster brick ground and leap with arms extended to latch them about his torso and bury face against his chest.

He near staggered, hands finding their way to landing on her back almost instinct before the man blinked in a wide-eyed sort of confusion--

A second clicked by, then another, and a third--

Before he chuckled low and soft, arms winding about her back to embrace her as he had in the world so far down below.

Oh, she knew this to be a dream, and this bleariness that drew her head to almost throb, it was blinding but-- oh, to have him before her like this after this week of time spent distracting herself from time she wanted to spend on anything but and bury herself away within the confines of their found hut and perhaps never leave--

Perhaps, even abandon the hut and bury herself back away within Greenpath to find herself lost within its depths and never be found again as she had been for many the last decade, and had wanted to be for many the next with the state of mind that damnable torch’s destruction had left her in.

She felt perhaps she could feel that warmth bubble back into being within her gut.

Come on, Hornet, we just went over this-- don’t be so quick to fall back into this so soft little pit of yours!

Oh, shut it--

“I missed you”

The words left her low, tilting her head back next to lift it and peer up at him with craned neck and smile ever the faintest up at the man, black tears pricking at the corners of her eyes but never falling.

He let that fire burn in his eyes, that unspeakable and alive, unholy and yet, thriving… breathing, true, and unrelentingly _him_ pyre that spoke mountains on his emotions as to just what burned behind those eyes, that crooked smile, in turn, picking a path across his face before he ever considered speaking.

“And I you, my lady--”

The way it sent a rush from her gut to flare like sparks from a hearth in her chest, blooming like flames, crackling and high and something so much more, dammit, Hornet, come on, pull yourself together your father is right there.

“Hornet, we tore you from the waking world to request your presence for a gift to be offered to you-- but the trade of it will be great, and it is up to you to decide, my lady” His voice hummed level and cool, gentile in a sense that she had never heard of him before, and almost… loving.

It almost drew her to melt toward him, but brow furrowed at the comment, what could he have meant by a gift with a trade that could have a value of great meaning. What did she have left to take that could be missed aside from the two before her and the vessel far down below…?

“Am I permitted to ask just what the gift may be, or is this gift something that I am being given no matter my decision on the matter…?”

There was a chuckle from the both of them, “You know us well, my child”

For your own happiness, they would say, ah but she would mourn the great thing lost and she knew it, so she dared not leap into it blindly with an open yes.

“Your father… offers to manifest me a body back upon the mortal planes…”

Her breath tore into her chest--

“As would he bring back Nymwae…”

And she spun round, near immediately about to answer with an eager yes before she pressed a hand to the end of her helm, barely catching herself, fingertips barely brushing her mouth before brow furrowed deep within thought. A gift like this was tremendously great-- have them back… and no trade for something such as this could be quite light enough to be so readily available to leap at without consideration.

“What is… the weight to trade for this then…”

And the smile that passed over his face brushed toward something somber.

He did not answer.

“Father…?”

“As he reached out to you not terribly long ago and has been guarding your every night from the Radiance’s effect, he is weaker than he would be outside of this...”

She frowned…

No…

“This would take everything from him…”

_No!_

This wasn’t something she could decide on-- her father or the man that had earned the right to be called the one she loved?

“We already decided it would be what is best for you, and what is best for the kingdom, my child...”

And she shook her head, slow at first and then faster, “No, _no_! This-- I just got you back, I can’t lose you, either of you! Please, you can’t just-- make me decide something like this, it’s not fair to take something like this in trade for the other, you know I love you both please… please don’t… please don’t make me choose…”

Her breath shook as tears threatened to spill, Grimm’s arms lacing slow about her to pull her near. It was instinct then that she spun round and buried her face against that scarlet shelled torso, shaking breath pulling in as she strained to steady herself, praying for anything but this choice she had been given.

The clattering of claws soon followed, approaching slow behind her, before a hand landed on her back to run a thumb back and forth in a ginger path from side to side.

“This would not be forever… But I would be asleep for a very long time… gods need their rest as well, my child…”

Just a bit of rest…

He… he would only be resting?

“Do… do you swear it?”

And she could swear she could feel the both of them smile, if only faintly.

“On Hallownest herself…”

And it took a moment, long and drawn where she took a deep breath, breathing in that fiery scent of the man before him and his sweet and warm cologne of amber and ash and earth, before she nodded, soft and slow, gently accepting that with the good, she must take the bad.

One day she would see the moon and its glory in her dreams again, the stars, the skies, and the gleaming clouds of glowing colors-- or… hadn’t Grimm called them the… cosmos… that night.

It would be a while before she saw her father again but she had gone many a century thinking him simply dead… she could go a few more knowing him to be simply sleeping.

“I would… I would like this gift you’ve decided on…”

Hugging tighter about Grimm’s being she buried her face into his torso, before releasing him to exhale that last shaky breath as she steadied herself, looking to her father with a thankful smile to give a breathy laugh and step to him with arms out wide and wrap them about his shoulders in a tight embrace.

“I’m going to miss you, papa…”

He seemed to stumble a moment as surprise washed over him, before embracing his daughter tight in return.

“And I you, my child…”

Stepping back he nodded his head, “Now go, the both of you, with where you set yourself, and how you fell, things are a bit… tricky in how we should send you to have you be caught, my dear girl-- time is rather halted as it stands, but I cannot hold it so forever”

And so, as Grimm’s hand interlaced within Hornet’s own, her head tipped back, looking to the man, with cloak fastening about his shoulders with a free hand, catching his stare and the subtle glint of a smile on his face.

The Pale King’s gaze caught Grimm’s as well, a bit more stern, “Treat her _right_ , Nightmare King”

To which Grimm could only chortle and bow his head, “That much I swear I will do, old friend of mine, we made an oath, did we not?”

“Oh go on with that old thing already--” And he gave a swat of his hand, a roll of his eyes, as though amused and even still irritated by such an old promise brought up.

And in what felt like a whirlwind of blearing white and celestial light, the realm of this beautiful alabaster mimicry of the City of Tears vanished beneath the glimmering light and in the next breath… that breathtaking shade of scarlet--

  
  


Quick as she could feel she had been falling, Hornet’s eyes snapped open, breath tearing into her chest and hand darting to snatch up spindle of silk only to feel powerful arms sweep beneath her and catch beneath the breadth of her back and the dip of her knees--

Gravity’s pull gave a terrible yank down on her, her hands latching out and clenching into familiar material of charcoal cloak fabric, or was it wing-- ah, she would have to ask the man, would she not.

A whirlwind of blinding crimson tore about the pair of them, obscuring even the nearest wall from view, and leaving the pair of then shielded in that moment in a shell of scarlet flames and those vivid and burning hot vapors that blinded but the mortal bug that dared get too near.

Quick as she had been to be caught, her eyes remained locked on her saviors as they descended, the red flames crackling and vanishing, but that splendid torch on her back staying alight.

“Lady Hornet!”

The familiar voice of the Elderbug cried aloud, the fast approaching footsteps of the townsfolk approaching as they descended with flames all but gone.

And yet their gaze did not shift from one another.

The Grand Nailmaster himself, Sly charged from his hut with nail in tow, daring to bring his weapon at the ready to defend the last remaining piece of the kingdom’s original royalty at the cry of the humble Elderbug.

Zote as well, hearing the word ‘lady’ believed it a moment to which his power could be brought out to shine and came rushing their direction with rusted nail out and slashing without so much as a means of asking so as to what the matter was.

And yet…

“My lady, are you quite alright” Grimm’s tone hummed low, ashen ever still and hugging with that subtle warmth it had held in their most vulnerable moment of confession as the soft sound of leathery wings descended nearer.

A shriek and Zote gave a wail, flying backward, and landing with a skid but feet from the Elderbug as the familiar form of the Grimmchild… of Nymwae, descended.

“I should say, I believe I was quite ill before, perhaps I was quite cold, could I ask of you to keep me company until I feel better, Sir Grimm…”

And he chuckled low, leaning in faintly, nodding, and pressed a kiss to her brow.

“I believe I can do just that, my Lady Hornet”

“I may just need you at my side for the remainder of my days-- are you certain you’re up for such a terrible task?” She chuckled softly, leaning in gently as they turned, ignoring the crowd and allowing them to part to step through and round to the hut to the far end of town far beyond.

“I believe I may just be”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is technically the end but, the epilogue is also gonna still be a whole chapter-- can you believe this entire thing is a commission?


	19. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the ritual complete-- all that is left is for Hallownest to heal

There was a magic about it, to watch the way that the people almost seemed to work around one another with an artfulness with a hand above them to direct them and guide them through and around into the right places--

It was just a funny feeling to know that the one designated as that very hand behind it all… he orchestrator to conduct the many into a symphony from the cacophony into a symphony of order… had been her from the very beginning.

Veil of crimson swished behind her as she swayed, documents in hand to be surveyed-- shifting from one page to the next, humming low beneath her breath, and casting along the melody of a beat of three in her path as she turned in the lonely confines of her study.

Could she call it a study…

Heavens, it was so odd to have such a right to be the one to get such a right behind such a frivolity.

The plans in hand-marked the beginnings of an infrastructure improvement for the City of Tears, to rebuild it and ensure it did not fall with time as the many other sectors had-- but it would be such a waste of resources to completely reconstruct the grounds in place of idle maintenance.

Drawing the quill from her mouth, she stepped to her desk’s edge, humming that soft melody of three beneath her breath, a shift of her feet beneath her in a sway from side to side as her hand sketched out an amendment to the plans and crossed through the extensive demands of materials to completely reconstruct the grounds.

No, this would not do--

She would mark down this note now, the denial, but an amendment to maintain and look for decay, and repair only what needed to be.

But this needed a direct letter, not their own notes spat back out at them.

That simply would not do.

Hmm… perhaps-- yes…

“Griswal-- I am to take my rounds of the sectors for the day within the hour, and I’m going to be taking a detour through the City of tears-- could you mark it on my schedule so it does not delve into the council meeting with the Mantis Sisters this afternoon”

And quick as she’d called, the stumbling bug, a grey shelled pillbug bearing the name Griswal toppled round the corner with arms loaded of papers and bumbled through the many scrolls in search of her schedule, much to her amusement (She believed she could spy it unfurl and roll across the floor before her.) “Yes, my lady, certainly, my lady, I will be on it this very moment, my queen!”

A hand lifted to her mouth and she tried her best to stifle a giggle into it, but it was hard not to find mirth in such a response… was this how her father had felt in such devout loyalty in the beginning?

She supposed she could see why with how afluster the poor man seemed, “It is quite alright, my friend, you know this well--”

“Y-Yes, my queen...”

“Please… just Hornet when it is not in a state of court, Griswal”

“Y-Yes… Hornet”

And with a subtle bow of her head and a gentle titter, she turned, moving to the doorway’s edge to grasp her cloak by the fringe and swing it about her shoulders and cover the intricacy of the gauzy gown that hung two feet above the ground.

My queen, they called her… and yet she had never truly been coronated…

The queen in crimson, the warrior queen, the immortal queen, so many names she had been given and yet… all she had done was step forward to rebuild her home.

Rebuild it back to the place that it had deserved to be.

But she knew it would never quite be the Pale Kingdom of Hallownest it had been before.

  
  


Leaving the confines of the palace, she stepped free from the head gates to turn round and gaze up at the bridge that passed through the high set towers and many sweeping arches, grey towers and their crimson banners, it was a place that the people had sculpted of the land for her but that it was not hidden away and tucked away within the far knit underground.

If her people wanted to see her, they had only to ask.

That is… as she strode down the steps, with young hatchlings racing past in a game of chase, not quite catching as she pulled a hood high to hide her horns, if she did not come to them first--

She was far different from her father, where she refused to let herself be closed within walls, even from the beginning, and though she carried a royal guard, and a troupe of nailmasters, none were there for her own safety--

But, in turn, for the safety of her people at the possibility of some great beast that may upsurge from the far reaching depths of the yonder fringes of this civilization.

It was another name many gave her, as she flitted down the stairs, and round to hop down and into the alabaster well, and into the slate halls of the busy, thriving, and once more stunning crossroads that =she could recall racing through with the husks of the Radiance’s fragmented will hot on her tail and itching to claw through her shell and reanimate her being as but another entity of her own control.

It was alive again, but now… for all the right reasons…

The orange glow of candles replaced the lunafly lanterns for the time being, until they could manage to maintain the breeding farm down within the confines of the Fog Canyon--

The start of it had begun to bloom but, to maintain it and keep it going enough to get the lunaflies contained and gleaming as they used to… well, it would take quite a bit of work-- as would much of bringing this Kingdom back into being.

Ah, but much of it would never be the same.

The Mantis Tribes, on learning she was the sister of the knight, had taken to seeking to testing her nettle to their own… and she had succeeded… by the skin of her mandibles.

Mm…

Had it really been so long since she had fallen.

And at the hands of her sibling…

She hummed low, staring in at the statue of the short figured knight gleaming beneath the pale white glow of the lanterns surrounding--

A powerful king they would have made indeed.

From the corner of her eye, she could spy the extending arm of a figure drawing to uncurl claspers, pedipalps drawn flat and wide before she extended her own hand to prod a lone finger dead center into the palm of those fuzzy pedipalps, the claspers remaining out wide a moment, but inches from the hem of Hornet’s cloak’s frilled hem before closing about the end of her finger.

A fine king indeed--

Turning her head she chuckled softly down at them, the familiar sight of the leathery winged Grimmchild; Nymwae, and the shade born knight standing at her side with her lone finger held in the knight’s grasp--

She could almost hear it on their voice that did not speak--

‘ _What brings you this way, big sister?’_

“There’s a delegation I’m on my way to make before my presence is thus later required within the Queen’s Gardens this afternoon for the current state of clearing the vines and thorns for the sake of housing for the new residents we’ve been collecting of late.” She tilts her head, tugging back her finger and crossing arms with an arch of her brow as she quirks a crooked smile, a pleased little hmph at the feat of the housing alone being the means to which delegations were to what she had been required for

Well, that and at the far end of the next week to pass, the sisters requested her and the knight were to come and show a bit of revelry as royalty should, and through back a little with a feast with their people in the depths of the colonies.

But that was to be seen at the end of next week, this was to be had for the time being (much to her frustration, as much as she’d love to be caught dancing in a swirling leap around the roaring bonfire with the other leaders that had spent it roughing it all these years).

But she really had to digress, eyes turning back to the eloquent statue back within the gleaming tomb that had once been of the tomb to her childhood and solitary sibling… before she had been given the odd circumstance of finding the little ghost that could have been king before her.

(Why ever did they refuse the offer, to begin with...)

“It should seem someone believes the structural integrity of the City of Tears to be lacking and it should need to be rebuilt from the ground up where we could use the attention elsewhere--”

The knight gave a plap of their hand to their helm, a shake of their head as Nymwae themselves landed to shake their head and follow suit, how simple could one bug be.

The City was one of the strongest of areas within the kingdom, such said-- it was still reigned as the jewel of the entire civilization. What need was there to refacet it-- all because one hot-headed bug demanded it?

Ah, but that was something she was going out to settle herself.

She gave a nod of her head, tugging her hood the faintest bit more forward and tucking the white gauzy fringe beneath it to hide away, her crown glinting barely beneath of the pale metal that lingered of the era before.

“Come, why don’t you two come along, it’s been a while since the consulate from the Abyssal Region and their ward came to meet with the Sector Advisor for Deepnest while they’re in the City of Tears to discuss construction with the grounds Advisor-- don’t you think?”

And the two perked up with a tremendous eagerness, glancing to one another-- they always seemed so eager to be allowed to use their titles like this, but to visit the Advisor of said Sector-- that sounded splendid!

A bounce and the knight sheathed their nail on their back, before turning and racing along, quick to turn and wave for Hornet to follow, whom wasted little time in doing just that, and shot forward with grace and a shocking white light, free hand grasping her hood and in the next blink, as her people spun round in sharp gasps of realization at whom they had just been standing near, she was gone and down the next corridor.

Hopping down a still being restructured hall, she gave a swirling turn, and bound down and around the nearby construction worker and his boss, whom both just saluted an informal wave to her before realizing who she was and stumbled into a bow as her and the knight and company descended past with effervescent grace.

Rushing through, it was not long before she bound through the gates of the elevator, and hummed idly as she bowed for the little knight to step through-- to which they gave a little but grand show of striding through with a hand to their chest, head swishing side to side and a grand sway to their stride as though they were of grand descent passing before that of other nobility--

Well… they _were_ , but the act of it drew a giggle from the Queen in Crimson, pulling the door shut behind them as the little shadow struck the lever and the grand elevator gave a smooth jolt and descended slow into the great depths toward the city with the ever pouring rains.

At stop, stepping through, the bustle of the town seemed almost… reminiscent to Hornet of something she would have seen a few thousand years before.

Well, save for the loud yelling of one very irate bug she could hear hollering his indignancy over the otherwise calm humdrum air of the benign city. Hornet heaved a sigh and shook her head, following the sound of the irate construction director to spy the fire ant and his colony in their idle midst of moving to set up work.

The Advisor of Deepnest humming their disapproval in lieu of the silent face of the City of Tears representative, “I do not believe it is wise to start working on a project such as this without the approval of the Queen, Flare-- things are not as they were in the kingdom of old-- I have tried to state this to you before, but she is far more hands on than our former King was able to be.”

And with a billowing howl, she could pinpoint just where the ant was, “And I don’t GIVE A DAMN-- I heard the stories of the kingdom before, and unless the Queen herself comes to face me down and _tell me herself this shitshow of a place doesn’t need rebuilt, then I’m rebuilding it!_ ” Flare snarled out, stamping his foot and snapping his hardhat from his head to slam on the ground with a mighty downward thwack of the plastic to the floor, much to Hornet’s bemusement.

An arch of her brow and she knit fingers together, stepping together and canting her head to the side, the man was lucky she’d taken to keeping her needle at the palace or that helmet would be--

Oh, to hell with it.

A flash of silk lashes through the air and the shell of the helmet cracks loud like a blast of split crystal-- making the ant jump in surprise, but not the Advisors standing nearby.

Whipping round to find the source, his eyes snap to the split helmet and the line of silk on the ground and he snaps round to yell at the insolent bug who could so have the audacity to destroy his helmet on a construction site.

Only to find the source to be Hornet herself, standing with hands neatly folded and an expressionless gaze planted firmly in place. And with an arch of her brow, her hands unclasped, stepping nearer, “Do not, give a damn, so you say, hmm… I realize I may not be the Queen of your Hive, but know that you are within the walls of my civilization… my friend. I request you wait for my response before moving to tear down my father’s work… Flare, was it?”

He remained silent, eyes wide and face flush with embarrassment and fury at being caught in the midst of such defiance of the new queen, but he made a show to avert his gaze, snapping it down and away, before giving a curt nod.

“Call off your swarm of workers… I looked over your plans for the reconstruction and I can say such plans would be more valuable within the confines of somewhere akin to the Fungal Wastes or the midst of Greenpath-- perhaps even Deepnest-- there is much of it that still needs cleared away and repaired, so much of it should be torn away and reconstructed and...” Her eyes narrowed tight into slits.

“Are you listening to me.”

Flare’s head rounded, arms crossing and he arched his brow, “Mm? When you told me to stop work I have already decided is needed to befit this Kingdom and bring it back to glory, no, I stopped listening”

Oh, that was it.

A snapping flash of white and the weight of her needle hung in her hand, hood torn back, the blade’s tip pointed at the man’s throat, “I will not stand idly by and have someone come into my home, tear it down, and rebuild it as they see fit. I did not allow it when I was but a girl, when I was to be coronated, and I will sure as _hell_ not allow it for so long as I am the queen of this civilization-- do you understand me-- Flare of Redwastes”

His eyes had snapped back to those wide rounds, terrified now and backing from the blade’s point, but Hornet gave no room for him to do so, glancing for but a moment to the Deepnest Advisor, and watching him step behind the other to block his path.

“This is my father’s magnum opus, and the heart of the kingdom. Your resources and men are best spent elsewhere. Are we clear.”

He did not answer, eyes drawn on the blade’s tip, and moved to lean backward from the weapon as it drew nearer. “Are we _clear_ ”

He gave a bobbing nod, “Y-Yes, fair queen-- my apologies! I-I will send them to the Fungal Wastes to assess the damages immediately” And quick as he could, he shoved at the Advisor, whom just barely allowed the man to move him backward and let him flit away with a stumbling sprint.

Her eyes followed him, watching as many of his workers came rushing to his side to assess the damage and learn of the news.

A shake of her head and she chortled, “And here I thought I would be without use of my needle in the daily delegations…”

“Mrmm… I suppose it can be something would be not quite expected of daily delegations, Queen Hornet--” And she hummed, holding up her hand as the City of Tears Advisor stepped nearer as well.

“Just Hornet… it is not a state of Court between any neighboring colonies, it is fine to avoid the frivolities, for now, Brumm…”

He seemed to nod, flexing the fingers to both his hands gently and glancing down to the side, as though contemplating something as her own attention shifted to the taller representative. The hallowed knight of legend-- that of which Nymm-- Brumm as he had recalled his name once she had pleaded with Grimm enough for the man to relent that he should be permitted to recall thousands of years of her lives as she could not stand such a great piece of himself consumed-- had been absolutely baffled to meet in person.

“And you, sibling, the days have been kind to you, have they not-- have you located the mask maker with the little knight in the grounds of Deepnest yet…?”

They seemed to draw breath deep, shaking their head as their hand lifted, pressing their hand to their cracked mask, the split tucked away beneath a neatly tied bandage to avoid any debris getting into it before it could be repaired.

She exhaled long and slow and gave a nod, gentle in its own nature, “Could I ask a favor then of you, Brumm, you as well, little knight-- I know both of you have more time on your hands than I do of late-- could you seek out the mask maker”

The two glanced to one another, and back and gave a nod, seeming firm in the fact they had been given a sort of quest by their queen. Something they could both complete--

“Little knight, you are familiar with the grounds, take Brumm to them, Brumm, speak on behalf of the Daughter of Hallownest… Queen in Crimson, seeking to commission a mask for the Hollow Knight… I believe he will be eager to take up such a task”

Her gaze shifted, fishing beneath her cloak to draw out scrolled papers and a quill that carried a tube of ink already barreled to its feather (a strange and new invention), to scratch out the loose definitions of such a contract, signing it at the bottom with her admittedly messy signature and carefully scrolled it back up after fanning it back and forth through the air to dry.

The note found its way found its way pressed into Brumm’s hands, eyes landing on the towering knight to see the soft grey flush that befell their face and the way they gently scrubbed at their cheek with a gentle press--

A smile drew high into being-- not quite coy, but something almost elegant with that playful little gleam-- pleased that this power could finally be used to help people… it was finally coming together.

Turning attention to observe the swarm of ants moving out, she gave an inward nod before moving to head out before a gentle brush of a hand found her shoulder.

Pausing, her head turned, finding Brumm’s hand not carrying the scroll of the contract’s design carefully brushing her shoulder, before it recoiled to curl its fingers in an almost uncertainty, “Lady Hornet… I must ask on…” He paused, as though seeming to catch himself on just what to call the man though the man was not his master any longer. “--Grimm… I know he still holds a great fury for the mistake made that day. Is there… a chance that I may be given a chance of court to see him… and make it right some way.”

She drew a breath, smiling softly, and chuckled low beneath her breath, her hand lying over the man’s own, “He is still quite fiery over the topic, but he is calming down the longer he realizes it is truly in the past… court is not something I can see within the next few moons--”

His head dipped in disappointment, the ache that passed over his face almost unbearable.

“But I believe I could coerce him into it before the cycle’s end…”

And the way his head lifted she couldn’t help but smile at the hope she could feel its nigh palpable spark ignite before her.

  
  


Swaying again to that same sweet melody of three as she clasped the night’s gown at her shoulder and knelt at the bed’s edge, exhaustion hung heavy at her, though it had been a fleeting round of check-ins made through the every kingdom sector and encounter the few that had begun the midst of a cleanup and reconstruction.

She could see now, the purpose perhaps in finding someone to denote the task of collecting that daily information from, perhaps looking into finding more than three would be beneficial to her--

A deep sigh as she remained kneeled, she paused, and stared out through the door to the chamber balcony, moving to step nearer and smiled, stepping instead from the bed’s edge to approach it and gaze onward toward the yonder skies above and the glittering stars above.

“The moon is beautiful tonight, is it not…”

A smile that had already painted its way into place blossomed further as she turned, lifting her head to glint that expression a bit brighter as her eyes creased the faintest bits at the corners. Glancing back up to the gleaming orb in the sky, she hummed, spying the crater-like formations that almost seemed to form a glorious city that dotted the surface.

“You can almost see the city…” Looking back up, she hummed, “I wonder if you can find him if you look closely enough, do you think your eyes are quite capable of seeing so far, oh fair Nightmare King?”

He gave a subtle chortle, lacing arms about her to lift his left and ghost fingertips beneath her chin, humming idly under breath, lids half-shut over those hypnotic crimson hues. “Ah, I am afraid not, but perhaps one day, mm?”

Cloak of crimson shimmered softly in the evening light of lunaflies and the silvery gleam of the moonlight glow.

She gave a tittering hum in return, leaning into his caress and allowing eyes to glide shut, “Perhaps one day indeed--”

He, in turn, chortled and ran his thumb over her cheek, “You seem quite exhausted, my queen, what could have you in such a state-- is it delegations with the fire ant colonies as per the last few weeks as you spoke with me the night before…?” He gave a soft tilt of his head, brow taking a subtle furrow.

Oh, she knew that tone, “Don’t go and give the poor man a terror because he gave me a fit-- I already made the man believe I was about to slay him this day-- I believe he’s learned his lesson” She chuckled.

And he, in turn, gave a chuckle, “Ah, you are coming to know me too well-- fair Queen of Crimson”

“I would certainly hope I have, fair Scarlet King”

Again, his hand thumbed over the crest of her cheek, and he gently tugged her forward.

“Come… it is no hour for you to be awake… you’ve to repeat this very schedule tomorrow, my beloved, do you not...”

And she followed with little resistance, drawn by a lone hand to sit on the bed’s edge as he, in turn, drew round to take the opposite edge of the expansive bed and unclasped his grand cloak to neatly draped it over the rack set at his side before settling himself down to turn beneath blankets and beckon her nearer with his warmth alone.

Exhaling slow, and delving beneath the blankets, she hummed, an idle smile as exhaustion once more took its hold on her, curling closer and closer still toward the man to nestle into his chest.

Brow pressed gently in place and arm snaked about his waist as his own laced about her shoulders--

With a warmth in place deep within her gut bubbling ever still and that sparking light gleaming in her chest, she gave one final glance up to meet inky black hues with the other’s own shocking scarlet, she smiled.

Knowing that sense of hope would not so easily die… and with it, dipping her head back down--

She closes her eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's about it folks, I'm really hoping you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it-- if you want to tag me with anything you drew or wrote in inspiration you can find me on twitter @cagnition
> 
> Other than that, let it be said of all the Hornets out there, the chosen nickname I picked for mine is 'Lady', feel free to message me on twitter or the likes, I'd love to know what you think-- this is the first fanfic I've actually done as a commission, so I'm definitely eager to do more 
> 
> (Also likely to possibly do an nsfw piece but that's a maybe, possibly... not sure yet)
> 
> Overall, that said, love you guys and cagnition out!


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